


Out Of My League

by mrtvejpes



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Bad Humor, Bets & Wagers, Blow Jobs, Boys Being Boys, But Also Boys Being Disgustingly Domestic, Did I Mention This Is a Volleyball AU, Drinking, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Nudity, One-Sided Kihyun/Hyunwoo... Kind Of, Pining, Public Blow Jobs, Public Display of Affection, Showers, Skinny Dipping, There Might Be Thigh Fucking, This Is All Softer Than It Sounds, Unresolved Sexual Tension, kiho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrtvejpes/pseuds/mrtvejpes
Summary: All he tasted was defeat. And cheap soju. And he wished to drown the taste.He roared.“I just want to suck a dick!”The echo of his voice carried over the river, rippling with every little wave, breaking over every stream-smoothed stone.Next to him, Hoseok sobbed.“Do you know who else has a dick, Kihyunnie?”Kihyun hiccuped. “Who?”Hoseok hiccuped harder. He hit his chest with an open palm.“This hyung!”“Do you truly?” asked Kihyun, awed.





	1. Libero

**Author's Note:**

> For Lily.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single hunk in possession of a good physique, must be in want of a cute twink.

Not that Kihyun considered himself particularly twinky, with his wiry body and hairy shins and zero interest in being cream-filled. He _did_ , however, consider himself particularly cute, and it was beyond question that Son Hyunwoo was, indeed, particularly hunky.

So when Minhyuk snorted in his face, Kihyun went through a full-fledged Austenian epiphany, mouth setting into a small scowl as he made up his mind on the spot.

“What?” Kihyun challenged. “You think that I can't score him?”

“I think you'd have a better chance of shooting three airballs in a row from where we're sitting,” replied Minhyuk, making himself more comfortable on the hard bench, “than as much as catching Hyunwoo's eye.”

Kihyun indignantly glanced over the gym. The basketball court with both its blackboards lay at the very end of the hall. His scowl set deeper.

“I'll have you know that I used to play basketball, but I'd still have a better chance of doing Hyunwoo than doing _that_.”

“I take it back, then. You'd probably have an equally abysmal chance at both.”

“Wasn't it you, just five minutes ago, who kept telling me that I'm too cute to stay single?” Kihyun bristled up.

“You're super cute, Ki,” said his snake best friend, “but no one is really cute enough to tempt the volleyball team captain. That's just the facts.”

“The facts.”

“Yeah. The guy only knows how to sleep, eat, and train. Trust me.” Minhyuk shrugged. “I've seen people try to ask him out, but he's not interested in anything besides his precious net and ball. I don't reckon he's even ever noticed that someone was hitting on him.”

That, although quite possibly true, didn't placate Kihyun the way Minhyuk may have hoped.

“I can be the first one,” he snipped.

“Or, you can crash and burn like everyone else.”

“You really think you're the only one who can get a jock boyfriend, don't you,” said Kihyun as he put both elbows on an empty bench behind his back. Glowering, he let his gaze fall on the volleyball court just in time to see Hyunwoo tap his glistening forehead with a sweatband. His plain white jersey rode up.

“I'm not saying that.” Minhyuk glimpsed down as well, unconsciously following Jooheon's fit figure. “What I'm _saying_ is... if you _want_ to be with someone, don't choose a dude who generally doesn't date. That just defeats the whole purpose. Go for someone easier.”

“I don't like easy dudes."

“Someone _approachable_. There's a ton of nice guys out there, Ki.”

“Too bad. I like this one.”

Minhyuk snorted again.

“You've never even talked to him.”

“That can be remedied. I have a mouth. He has a mouth.” And what a mouth.

“Go on, then.”

Confidence faltering in the face of Minhyuk's scorn, Kihyun went silent. For a few seconds. Just a few. The sound of students shouting and balls hitting the floor grew piercing.

“Now?” he asked at last.

“Why not? The practice is over in five minutes,” said Minhyuk. Simpering, he ceremoniously closed his notebook in which he had been jotting down the course of the training.

As one of the best school newspaper journalists, Minhyuk's task was to monitor the volleyball team's activities and progress before the summer championship. The school had a couple of strong sports teams to represent them, but the volleyball team in particular was said to have a star lineup and the greatest chance of winning this year around.

Kihyun knew about the team's reputation only thanks to Minhyuk's incessant chatter. Truth be told, Kihyun was probably the last person in the whole school to care for sports. He used to play basketball when he was younger – because of Yoongi and because he had dreamt that it might make him taller – but that was it. If he had to be brutally honest with himself, he was rather bookish, with a clumsy streak and just a tiny dash of disdain for any sort of business that required physical rather than intellectual strain.

Which, upon reflecting, made him a little twinkier than he'd like to admit.

But jocks usually went for twinks.

Kihyun turned to Minhyuk.

“You really don't believe I can score him, do you.”

“I don't exactly believe _anyone_ could score him.”

“Well, watch me.”

Minhyuk gave a half-hearted groan.

“Ki.”

“No. Don't Ki me. I'm gonna do it.”

“You don't have to. I was just messing with you.”

“All the more reason to do it. It's a matter of pride.” Realizing that Minhyuk must have felt as though he was reasoning with a remarkably pissy peacock, Kihyun softened his tone and shrugged. “Anyway. I'm just taking your advice. I can't stay alone forever.”

“I didn't bring you here so you can pine after someone who's...”

“Out of my league?”

“First of all, it's you who's out of everyone's league. Except mine. That's why we're best friends. And second of all, what I meant is _unavailable_. Not everyone wants to date. Even if they're out of the closet.”

True. Neither had Kihyun. Until now.

Now he would gladly and spitefully date the whole volleyball team, just to prove Minhyuk wrong.

He got up. Blood pulsing in his temples, he skirted between the benches and strode down the stairs.

He wavered on the last step. Something pulled at the hem of his sweater to still him in place; something very long and grabby. Balancing on the edge of the stair, Kihyun tried to pry his sweater from Minhyuk's fingers.

“You better sod off,” he warned.

“Listen,” said Minhyuk, tugging at Kihyun's sweater to the point of stretching it beyond repair, “I won't let you make a fool out of yourself in front of everybody. Pick someone else! There's six dudes!”

“Hyunwoo is the best-looking, though.”

“Disputable,” said Minhyuk, since he had already called dibs on Jooheon and was fiercely proud of his choice.

“He also looks like he's the nicest of them all. You know. Your regular nice guy.” Kihyun lowered his voice as he became mindful of the streams of students rushing past them, chasing after each other and cheering. “He won't try any bullshit with me.”

Wavering, Minhyuk briefly strengthened his grip before he let go. Kihyun smoothed his sweater down. The hem was crumpled. He ran an open palm over the spot several times, scrunching up his nose.

Minhyuk observed him.

“Is this still about –?”

The desecrated sweater clutched in his hands, Kihyun dashed across the hall.

Out of all things that he had tried to repress during his short but painfully awkward life, his slip with Taemin was quite possibly on top of the list.

Not that it had been all bad. It never is, in life. Picking Taemin in the first place was actually one of Kihyun's proudest moments, and keeping him for a whole month still counted for something, he supposed.

They had lasted long – given their differences. Taemin was extremely handsome, and a graceful dancer, and soon-to-be idol, while Kihyun danced like your local karaoke uncle and his greatest asset was his wit.

But they had actually _clicked_. As friends. As people.

As boyfriends, they had been abysmal. Kihyun had very Scorpio-esque ideals when it came to relationships, and he liked to keep things as exclusive as possible. Taemin, on the other hand, loved and lived for everyone.

It wasn't anyone's fault in particular, really, that Kihyun had come out of that episode a little fucked up. If anything, it was his own fault for being so disgustingly domestic at the age of seventeen.

Something told him that Son Hyunwoo could be equally as disgusting. Equally as domestic.

Crossing the court, Kihyun treaded the polished maple, shoes squeaking. The volleyball team had taken a break and the boys now stood in a circle. They began to dissipate one by one as Hyunwoo sent them off after concluding his speech.

Kihyun didn't allow himself to slow down. Weaving through the loosening circle, he walked up to Hyunwoo. He opened his mouth.

And froze.

Hyunwoo blinked at him. The team stopped at the sudden silence. People stared.

Kihyun felt his heart tick inside his throat, like a clock.

“Hello,” said Hyunwoo.

“Hi,” said Kihyun.

Hyunwoo maintained eye contact with him although he blinked several more times.

“Are you here because of the flyer?” Hyunwoo asked.

“I – right. Yeah. Sure.”

Shit.

 _What_ flyer?

Hyunwoo's serious face broke into a smile. He had an eye-smile.

“Guys,” he called to the team, “we've got ourselves a libero.”

“Oh, thank _god_.”

“I thought no one would turn up!”

“Isn't it a little late to train him, though? Hey, what's your name? Why didn't you apply sooner?”

“Be glad someone's joining us at all. The summer camp's only one month away.”

The circle shrank back, closing Kihyun in. Kihyun shrank too. He looked up and around. Six faces stared at him – scrutinized him, really – and Kihyun couldn't quite suppress the feeling that he was being sized up like a disappointingly small flank of beef swimming in seaweed soup.

“Isn't he too short?” asked Jooheon in a not-so-hushed hushed tone, and for some inexplicable reason, Kihyun asked himself the same thing.

Wasn't he too short to be a libero?

What the fuck _was_ a libero, anyway?

“He's wiry,” said someone else. “He should be strong.”

“What's your name, little one?”

Too many voices were speaking at once. Kihyun had to think really hard.

“Kihyun,” he said, flushing. “Yoo Kihyun. I'm in the –”

“School choir.”

“Yes.” He pushed his shoulders back. “I'm the lead singer.”

“And you want to _play volleyball_?”

Play what?

Startled as a deer, Kihyun looked from Jooheon to Hyunwoo.

The big beef gave him another uneven eye-smile.

“I think it's brave of you to try,” said Hyunwoo. He turned to the team. “Even if he – Kihyun, you said? – even if Kihyun doesn't turn out to be the best of the best, he's still going to help us out, so we should all be thankful and give him a warm welcome.”

He gave a few mighty claps. His teammates echoed the captain with a hesitant wave of applause.

Then, mightier than when clapping, Hyunwoo's hand clasped Kihyun's shoulder in a deadly grip.

“Thanks for joining us, Kihyun. We better start drilling you right away, the championship is in two months. Someone get this guy a pair of sneakers, come on, come on –”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me [here](https://twitter.com/mrtvej_pes).


	2. Balls and Heads

During the first training with the volleyball team – with _his_ team – Kihyun was able to ascertain the ensuing points:

First, his body, although sinewy, had quite a few flabby parts that were apparently fun for people to poke.

Second, Gunhee was the stealthiest at poking, especially at poking Kihyun's arm flab.

Third, Kihyun happened to be by far the shortest of all the boys. Even Gunhee and Hoseok, who were by no means tall, towered over Kihyun the slightest bit, acting as if it gave them the right to coo at him. Kihyun could perhaps learn to live with the cooing and with his shortness, but he found it positively unfair that everyone else also had more meat on their bones than him. And not the squishy kind.

The last and most disastrous of Kihyun's discoveries was that the showers belonged to a horror movie rather than a gym. The whole time there, Kihyun balanced on his toes, cupping his cock as he stork-walked across the room and back. Giggling, Jooheon and Gunhee got their hands on a couple of rolled up towels and chased each other around, eerily oblivious to the layers upon layers of mildew that sprouted happily under their feet.

But one thing that Kihyun adamantly pretended not to notice, was that Minhyuk had been right.

Hyunwoo had his head full of the ball. Sadly, there was no room in that handsome head of his for any other balls. (Or heads.)

Giving up had no place in Kihyun's vocabulary, though. Definitely not after the very first day.

He scuttled after Hyunwoo when the practice was done. More students poured inside the gym with their tennis rackets and fencing swords, crowding the freshly vacated place.

“Oh, Kihyunnie,” said Hyunwoo, as though just now remembering something. Kihyun squeezed out a breathless “Hi” in response and readied himself to say more. Hyunwoo clasped his shoulder. Crushing it. Enveloping the whole thing. “I forgot to tell you. Hoseok and I thought that you could use some additional training.”

“Uh,” said Kihyun, the notion that he must sound underbred sinking into his skin.

“We can't stay here today because of the schedule, but we'll take you to Hoseok's parents' gym and you'll continue training there. Free of charge,” said Hyunwoo, glancing over Kihyun's shoulder. Kihyun didn't have to turn around to know that Hoseok was jogging towards them. “If you're free today, of course.”

“I'm _so_ free.”

“Good,” said Hyunwoo and strolled off first.

Kihyun wasn't mad at that. He slowly set off after Hyunwoo, watching the intricate pulls and tugs of his back, and yeah, he wasn't mad at it at all. Hyunwoo was nice to look at from behind.

Nice, as everything else about him.

Except one thing about Hyunwoo, and one thing alone, didn't strike Kihyun as particularly nice. When he'd strolled off first, it wasn't to show the newbie the way, or to discreetly tell Kihyun and Hoseok to hurry up.

He had strolled off – period.

Kihyun gaped at his retreating figure, still rippling so fine with each stride and breath, until Hyunwoo took a turn and disappeared from his field of vision altogether. All the while, Kihyun didn't say a word because being dumped with Hoseok robbed him of _any_ words, and a thick, awkward silence eventually settled over him. Thick, unbreakable, and punctuated by his and Hoseok's footsteps, the silence grew. It overpowered the usual afternoon thrum of cars speeding and the city teeming.

Kihyun decided to skip the small talk. Hoseok didn't speak either. They arrived at the gym, changed, and found themselves a secluded corner which overflowed with intimidating-looking machines, dumbbells, and to Kihyun's woe, volleyballs. Once there, Hoseok's guard – or shyness – gently broke down, scattering like a sand tower in the wind.

“I liked your pun,” said Hoseok, fiddling with the strap of his weightlifting belt.

“What pun?”

“The libero one. When Hyunwoo asked if you had time you said that you were _so free_.”

Kihyun stared. Hoseok stared at him staring.

Still missing the joke, Kihyun gave a tight smile.

“Thanks, man.”

Gazing down to put the belt on, Hoseok's cheeks bunched up.

“No problem.”

 

~

 

Libero. _Free_.

Kihyun felt anything but free as Hoseok put him into the weirdest positions and kept him there, physically forcing him to squat lower and lower and shift his knees apart. If someone asked him at that moment, while he hovered in a very uncomfortable I'm-taking-a-dump-above-a-squat-toilet crouch, whether he felt at least the tiniest bit free, Kihyun would say no, fuck no. On the contrary: he felt like he'd just entered a very intricate world of pantomime and pain play.

No other description could quite compare to this one. Kihyun's thighs ached as though each second spent in the base position was tearing his sinews apart with the sickening singsong of flesh ripping. Each volleyball that Hoseok threw his way hurt his soft, balled fists.

He'd been afraid that Hoseok would make him lift weights and do pull-ups and whatnot, but liberos apparently didn't need to be ripped. Apart from a warm-up treadmill workout, Hoseok focused moreso on explaining the basics to Kihyun – to his body, so it always remembered what to do, even if Kihyun didn't. He focused on shaping Kihyun as a player, not an athlete.

Which was good and all, because as much as Kihyun liked to look at boys Hoseok's (or Hyunwoo's) size, he had no desire to look _like_ them.

Fuck, though. He had no idea that being with one of them – or being one of them – came at such a price.

And this was only day one.

Kihyun scrunched up his face. He could do it. He could, if what was waiting for him at the end of this journey was a won bet... and a boyfriend, of course.

Half an hour into the drill, Hoseok repositioned Kihyun again, this time manhandling him so he stood facing a wall. Hoseok climbed on a bench behind Kihyun, tossing balls against the wall over his head and expecting him to block them. Weird angles or not. Rushed slutdrops or not.

Some tosses were easy to cover. Some flew at an ankle-breaking speed, too close to the ground or too far to the side. Hoseok didn't exactly spare him. He just dished out enough praise to keep Kihyun's ego cosy and cuddled.

Later that afternoon, Kihyun found out why Hoseok had put on that ridiculously snug weightlifting belt. Patting the black stretch of the belt to check if it sat secure on his waist, Hoseok went on with his own deadlift workout.

Eyes trained on Kihyun and gentle orders spilling from his mouth, Hoseok heaved a boat-sized barbell above his head and placed it back down. Over and over, barely showing any signs of strain. His neck, though. His neck tensed and went smooth again pull after pull, growing rosy.

That view was the only thing keeping Kihyun from desertion.

“You have to concentrate – always,” Hoseok was explaining to him. “Always face the action. Be aware of your surroundings, but never turn your back to the net. Be quick, but don't forget to communicate with the rest of us before you come up with a strategy.”

“Okay,” said Kihyun as he tried various moves out, still squatting. He brushed his cheek on his shoulder, wiping a sweatdrop or two. “I can strategize. I'm good at that.”

“You look like you could be.” Huffing out a breath, Hoseok let the barbell drop to the ground. He stretched his arms and fingers. Ceiling lights poured down his figure. “One thing's beyond me, though.”

Kihyun sensed something as he watched Hoseok wipe his hands and work his mind instead of muscles for a change. A shift in atmosphere.

A leeway to take a break.

Kihyun immediately dumped his small body on the ground, cradling his knees to his chest. The air hung musky around him, the carpet under his bare skin prickly and way too new to smell pleasant. Musing, Hoseok slowly walked up to Kihyun and kneeled before him. He took Kihyun by the leg, dragged it closer and kneaded his calf like it was normal.

“Do you like sports?”

“In theory,” said Kihyun, brusque and sharp because Hoseok's fingers dug into his already sore muscles.

“Have you ever played volleyball before?”

“I've played basketball,” he retorted as if that counted.

“So,” said Hoseok, his gaze nowhere near Kihyun's face, “you're just joining the team to help us out?”

“I'm not going to stick around after the championship, if that's what you're asking.”

Giving Kihyun a light pat so he would switch legs, Hoseok began to massage his other calf. It was getting bearable. Nice.

“You could be good, you know,” remarked Hoseok. “Liberos should be swift and sharp and fast-thinking.”

“And out of shape and clumsy?”

Hoseok laughed.

“You're not that clumsy when you wear your glasses.”

“But I can't wear glasses when I play, can I? That kind of bollocks only works when you're Harry Potter.”

Gasping quietly, Hoseok glanced up. “Has it ever occurred to you that liberos are pretty similar to Seekers?”

It hadn't, because Kihyun didn't go on with his life thinking about volleyball, much less about possible parallels between volleyball and Quidditch.

Now that Hoseok mentioned it, though...

“They're tiny,” said Kihyun, grimacing.

“They're _light_ ,” said Hoseok. “And driven and they like a good challenge.”

Instinct told Kihyun to swallow the remark that a challenge was what had gotten him here in the first place. There was something about how glowy Hoseok looked, how serious he was about volleyball and deadlifting and other things that Kihyun couldn't have imagined himself doing just two days ago, that got Kihyun to hold his tongue. A cold, clammy wave washing over him, Kihyun shrugged. He looked neutral. He freed his leg from Hoseok's grasp and nudged Hoseok's palm open with the tip of his shoe.

“The real challenge would be to exfoliate those two graters you call hands. It feels like I'm about to be shredded to pieces when you touch me.”

“That's because I work out a lot,” defended Hoseok, hiding his calloused hands behind his back.

“I've noticed,” quipped Kihyun.

“Do you hate it?”

“No, I love being shredded to pieces,” he deadpanned.

Hoseok looked at his hands. They weren't really any bigger than Kihyun's, and it struck him as strange. Just how small had Hoseok been before he became like this?

“I could bring you some sea salt scrub,” offered Kihyun.

“You would?”

“I would even rub it in for you, if _you_ don't rub in that I barely blocked half of those balls.”

Laughing a hollow but happy laugh, the way very young children laugh from the bottom of their chests, Hoseok put his hands down.

“Deal.”


	3. Faux Restaurant

Hyunwoo chased him from one end of the court to the other, cannonading balls his ways.

“Faster! Don't be afraid of the ball! Don't grab it, _hit_ it – but _watch where you're sending it_!”

Kihyun could only gasp in response.

Another swift volleyball flew right at him. As atavistic as the instinct was, Kihyun wanted nothing else but to crouch and seek safety behind the closest solid object, which happened to be Hoseok. But that would just make Hyunwoo sigh, and Seokjin and the _other_ Hoseok would point out Kihyun's height again, so crouching was out of the question. Kihyun pushed his arms forward, balled his hands into two tight fists, and struck the ball.

It flew over the net.

Hoseok cheered – because it was such a Hoseok thing to do, to praise every insignificant little thing – and Kihyun swelled with satisfaction.

His knees wobbled. And it wasn't because Hyunwoo looked mighty fine when sweaty and smiling.

Kihyun loved succeeding. Loved it better than the soft eye-squint the captain wore whenever Kihyun listened to his directions.

It had taken three weeks, but Kihyun was slowly beginning to come to terms with the whole “I accidentally became the newest asset of the school volleyball team and now I'm dying in the gym five times a week” thing. Well, _sort of_ come to terms with it. He still didn't understand why each training session reminded him of dodgeball instead of volleyball, or why it was so hard to _talk_ to Hyunwoo in person despite the countless opportunities Kihyun regularly had during their one-on-one meetings (or two-on-one when Hoseok hung around) – but hey. That was just how it was. He couldn't have it all.

At least he looked cute in shorts.

There was no coming to terms with Minhyuk's neverending snickers and chuckles, though, which sucked, since Minhyuk's scorn followed Kihyun like the stench of fermented kimchi follows village grandmas. It was maddening. Minhyuk wasn't going to let this fiasco go.

So Kihyun had to own it.

And act as though this was all just a part of his plan to get Hyunwoo.

And prove to everyone that he wasn't short. Or that he could be as good as the tall players.

Whatever.

“That pride of yours will one day either kill everyone around you, or it will kill _you_ ,” Minhyuk had prophesied, and Kihyun had to agree with him as he limped to the bleachers and slumped down. Not that he minded. Death had to be better than this.

Jooheon and Hoseok slouched beside him, shaking the bench. They smelled like shoes and Str8 body spray. Kihyun couldn't say that he smelled any better.

“You were great, Ki,” said Hoseok, warmth seeping from his voice and body alike.

“I barely even hit the thing,” wheezed Kihyun. “It's like praising me for breathing.”

“Your breathing is actually pretty messed up,” chuckled Hoseok, as breathless as Kihyun. He put a blazing hand on Kihyun's tummy. His skin was still rough, and it scraped over Kihyun's thin jersey. “You need to control it. Breathe slower. Right here. If you keep puffing like this, you'll get a side stitch.”

Kihyun swatted at him. “Too late for that.”

“It's never too late to learn something useful.”

Bless him, Kihyun thought – only half-ironically – as he gazed at Hoseok's earnest expression. The sweet protein muncher meant well.

Did he have to be so goddamn grabby, though?

Hyunwoo ran up to them. He looked honey-glazed.

“That wasn't half bad,” he conceded. “Ready for round two?”

Kihyun gulped.

Only Hyunwoo, as harmless as he was, could make the words “round two” sound ominous.

“I'll join in,” Hoseok offered.

“Okay,” squeaked Kihyun, ankles giving in under him as he attempted to get up. He was a silk ribbon, ready to fall and fold on the ground.

The other players save for Hoseok and Hyunwoo cleared the court, leaving nothing but a faint odour of bodies behind. The entire site reserved for the volleyball team gaped empty as only the three of them remained.

Whenever it was just him and Hyunwoo (and sometimes Hoseok), Kihyun felt naked. Watched. Not by Hyunwoo, but the rest of the gym. He hadn't realized how insanely packed the place was on a daily basis.

The other teams as well as your regular groups of gapers must've enjoyed the sight of a button-sized boy being totally squashed by someone twice as big, because the hall always got suspiciously quieter before Hyunwoo started the session.

Sweat thickening, Kihyun assumed his stance.

“Come on, Buttercup!” hollered someone on top of the bleachers.

Kihyun missed the ball.

The bleachers erupted.

He saw the jeering group from the corner of his eye, but paid more mind to Hoseok, who threw his hands up and pressed the heels of his palms to his temples. And clenched his jaw. And muscles too. All in an attempt to stay silent when he couldn't say anything nice.

Composing himself, Hoseok gave Kihyun an _it's okay_ half-mouth smile, the one that didn't really reach the rest of his face, and Kihyun bit back the urge tell him that although he couldn't hit a ball, he could hit the highest notes in Mozart's _Pa-_ , _Pa-_ , _Pa-_ , and that he was only useless at _this_.

“Focus on the game,” called Hyunwoo, back to his Captain Cannonball mode, and he fired another swooshing volleyball at Kihyun.

Forty minutes later, Kihyun swam in his own sweat, skin flushed and as tingly and warm as if he'd just gotten out of a tropical rainforest. The air in his lungs trembled, condensed like milk.

Kihyun put on his rubber slippers before he walked out of the changeroom. The floor in the showers looked gnarly, like it was ready to bloom. Naked except for the slippers, Kihyun skipped across the room. It was humid.

Hyunwoo and Hoseok were already there, soaping their thick chests and buttocks. Hoseok had suds in his hair. Kihyun wedged his body between them to snatch the last remaining showerhead.

He'd been terribly shy the first time Hyunwoo had herded him into the showers together with the rest of the team, but upon seeing the floor, Kihyun had other things to worry about than casual nudity and an occasional smack on the back or thighs with a wet towel. He supposed jocks bonded this way – _physically –_ and he was, tragically, somewhat of a jock now, so he had to suck it up.

He'd rather suck others things.

Next to him, Hyunwoo soaped his ballsack.

On the other side, Hoseok shampooed his hair. A trail of suds ran down his spine, all the way to the dimples in his lower back.

Kihyun stared at the grooves between the tiles.

So maybe he didn't have a boyfriend yet, but he had a hellova view.

Back in the stuffy changing room, Kihyun dove for his bookbag. He pulled out a shiny bento box that his brother had brought him from Japan.

“Hyung, are you hungry –”

Hyunwoo was already out of the door. Nothing new. Kihyun put his hands down. Gripped the bento box harder. His shoulders sagged.

Giving a low grunt, Hoseok threw both of their bags over his shoulder and marched Kihyun outside, leaning into him.

“What's in it?” he asked, peering as he pushed Kihyun in front of him with his chest.

“The usual,” said Kihyun. He hefted the box. Looked at Hoseok. “Want some?”

Hoseok grinned and steered Kihyun by the waist. “Sure.”

See, grabby.

They sat on the floor in front of the locked choir room, backed up against the two-winged door. Kihyun put the bento box down so it lay partially on his and partially on Hoseok's thigh. He handed Hoseok a pair of chopsticks. It was the expensive kind, metal, with tiny carvings, which Kihyun had spent the whole morning polishing.

Humming, Hoseok stuffed his mouth full.

“So how long have you been into him?” he mumbled, rice spilling.

The door creaked behind them. A waft of cold flowed through the crack.

Kihyun elbowed the door shut. The breeze howled, but it no longer seeped through.

“Into who?”

“ _Oh Captain, my Captain_!” declaimed Hoseok.

Trying not to scowl, Kihyun turned back to his lunch.

“A little while.”

“How long is that?”

“A few –” Kihyun wavered. He felt like he should lie. But he didn't. “Weeks.”

“Weeks? Really?”

“Is it that weird?” That shallow?

“No – not weird.”

“Sometimes it happens like that, you know. One day, you don't even know that the person exists, and the next day you're kinda into them.”

“But you have it _bad_.”

Did he?

Kihyun once again felt like he should lie and say yes. But he didn't.

“I just fancy him, is all. He's – you know – a good guy.”

Hoseok clasped Kihyun's knobby knee and jostled it a little. Like he was comforting him. Like he was giving Kihyun another one of those _it's okay_ smiles, except without smiling.

“That he is.”

Chopsticks clicked. The floor oozed cold, soothing Kihyun's burning sinews.

Kihyun felt dumb.

“Want to stay and watch during the rehearsal?” he blurted.

“Yes,” Hoseok blurted back. “I mean... If it's allowed.”

“Of course it's allowed. Minhyuk lurks around all the time.”

“I'll come, then. If you want me to.”

“I do.”

Like he would let Hoseok think that he was worthless.

 

~

 

Kihyun had thought that solid objects were supposed to sizzle and quiver in the summer sun only on the TV screen like he'd seen it in old Ozu Yasujirō films. The colour kind, not the black-and-white. The warm pastel kind. In quietly flowing films set in the thrumming yet sleepy, moving yet melancholic Tokyo. But Kihyun had been wrong about that.

Summers in Seoul could also make objects sizzle and quiver, he realized while he walked Hoseok home. The city block shimmered as sheets of gold-beaten sunlight poured over it. _Shivered_ with heat. Turned off lamps trembled. Power towers trembled. Stacks of houses trembled. And if any of these objects had eyes, they would see Kihyun as a smeared black silhouette that trembled as well.

He shielded his eyes. He saw no clouds.

No people.

The ice cream booth at the end of the road was closed.

The greying beige (or yellowing grey) front of Hoseok's house peeked from between two bigger buildings. Hoseok picked up the pace and jogged the last twenty or so metres, keys jangling. Kihyun slowed down, watching him unlock the gate.

Hoseok lived in one of those remarkably quaint but just as remarkably compact houses where you couldn't sigh without the person in the adjacent room asking what was wrong.

“Wanna come in and play Faux Restaurant?” asked Hoseok, shouldering the gate door open.

“Depends.” Kihyun stopped. He kicked a pebble. “Is it ramen night again today?”

“Excuse you, I don't _exclusively_ eat ramen.”

“Japchae?” guessed Kihyun.

“No.” Hoseok held the door open. “Beef. And homemade radish kimchi,” he said importantly.

Kihyun was inside the garden before Hoseok could say another word, ducking under his friend's meaty arm to slip in. Hoseok chuckled and locked the gate.

Playing Faux Restaurant meant cramming themselves inside an indoor fort that stood in the middle of Hoseok's bedroom and pretending that they were eating out together.

Kihyun kind of liked that. Pretending to be fancy and whatnot.

Well, as fancy as one could be squeezed in a tent while Hoseok's younger brother occupied the rest of the bedroom, immersed in the newest GTA game and Jhnovr's songs.

The room itself wasn't the tiniest of the bunch, but it was so open that the brothers had no privacy. And so when either of them had a guest, they just crawled inside the champagne-coloured, breezeless tent and stayed there.

The tight space was lit from the inside with fairy lights. With only a semi-sheer fabric separating them from what was going on outside, Kihyun could hear everything. Every click and curse as Hoseok's brother listened to mellow booty call music, sprawled on the bed, the controller gripped in his hands. But there was something about not being seen that gave Kihyun the illusion of an out-of-body experience. Of being removed from his own voice. The illusion of being nothing but a listener himself. Whatever he said inside the fort would stay inside; that was the rules.

 _His_ rules. Hoseok hadn't broken them yet.

And Hoseok's brother didn't really care for anything besides his precious game, anyway. Kids his age never did.

Finding a comfy cushion, Kihyun sat down Turkish style. He appraised the feast. Endless and endless bowls dripping with food. Sweet and spicy-smelling side dishes. A bottle of sparkling water for them to share.

Kihyun stuffed his face.

“So about falling for someone really fast,” said Hoseok, musing, and Kihyun quickly took it upon himself to clank and rattle with the bowls.

“What about it?” he coughed out.

“Has it ever happened to you before?”

“Nope.”

“Not once?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” mumbled Hoseok over the pair chopsticks crammed in his mouth. “You know. Ever before.”

“But it's not that uncommon. To fall fast,” said Kihyun. “Everything has to begin _somewhere_.”

“In that case it's not that different from falling for someone halfway through, is it?”

“Halfway through what?”

Hoseok shrugged. “Dunno. Halfway through knowing them.”

“I guess?” Kihyun crinkled his forehead. “The result's similar for sure. I've tried both – and they're both awful.”

“Has it really been so bad? Each time?”

“So far, yeah.” Kihyun sulked over the kimchi. “It just never works out for me.”

“How so?”

“I'm ugly, obviously.”

They giggled.

“Sounds like it's better not to fall at all.”

“Sounds like it. Tell me how to do it.”

“I'd tell you if I knew,” said Hoseok, looking at him.

Already mid-giggle, Kihyun giggled harder. Freer. It was a relief to know that even Hoseok found Hyunwoo crush-worthy.

Outside, Hoseok's brother huffed out a timid “Heck yeah!” as he rained hell on a cop car.

Inside, Kihyun put down the bowl he'd emptied and repositioned his legs before they cramped. The fairy lights shifted. Jhnovr sang about wanting _A Little Bit More_.

Kihyun leaned back, palms cushioned. He tugged at one of the miniature light bulbs. It blazed, but he was so used to being too warm and too soaked up that it didn't even faze him.

“What about Minhyuk? Was it the same for him?” Hoseok watched him.

“You mean when he first noticed Jooheon? I think so. Yeah, I think so – he was gone the minute Jooheon called him hyung. Minhyuk is weird like that.”

“Does he know that Jooheon fancies him back?”

“Sure he does. But that's more because Minhyuk can't imagine that someone _wouldn't_ be into him. He's just bummed that Jooheon isn't taking the hint.”

It was a common thing amongst the volleyball team members, Kihyun grumbled for himself as he forked a juicy piece of radish. They couldn't take the goddamn hint.

“Must be hard, trying to hit on someone who's so friendly and so used to skinship,” observed Hoseok.

“Especially when you're also someone who's friendly and used to skinship,” Kihyun chipped in.

And he grimaced.

“Skinship” didn't quite encompass all those mating rituals Minhyuk and Jooheon had been performing in public. The two fools wouldn't stop grabbing each other and speaking in baby talk; but despite that, Minhyuk still hadn't asked Jooheon out.

Because if he _had_ , Jooheon must have missed it.

“I don't think that Jooheon has a clue what Minhyuk wants,” said Hoseok, echoing his thoughts.

“That's alright with me. I'm not telling Minhyuk shit. Let that fucker fight a little.”

Hoseok gave a gurgle. Then he laughed out loud.

“What?” demanded Kihyun, smiling at the sound.

Hoseok shook his head. “It's just cute to hear you curse, is all.”

“Cute. Out of all things.”

“What can I do? Everything you do is cute.”

“Right? But somehow, I'm still alone. And Minhyuk rides me for it every day, so I'm gonna watch him suffer.”

“When will Hyunwoo ride you instead?” called Hoseok's little brother.

Kihyun spat his kimchi.

“A good question,” he rasped. He grabbed a napkin and patted the back of his neck. “To which I don't have the answer. And I'd rather not have it, because I might not like it.”

Stuffing his head out of the tent, Hoseok threw a couple of cushions across the room to silence his sagacious sibling. Kihyun handed Hoseok another one when he groped for more.

So, perhaps not _all_ that was said inside the fort stayed inside.

“Can we, like, not talk about crushes? From now on? Forever?” asked Kihyun, warmth spreading all over his throat and down his collarbones.

Hoseok slinked back and yanked the flaps shut.

“Agreed,” he breathed out, flushed from the shoulders up. “So.”

“So.”

“No boy talk, then?”

“Please.”

“This is kinda like the Bechdel test.” Hoseok gave a shy smile, the squishy kind, with the corners of his mouth upturned and lips disappearing.

“Except we're not girls.”

“I don't think that even girls talk about boys as much as we do,” Hoseok laughed, a little quiet, knees drawn to his chest.

And Kihyun thought that, yeah, there were better things he'd rather talk about with Hoseok.

He leaned forward.

“Tell me about the camp.”


	4. Sink Or Swim

Out of the myriad of things that could make Kihyun sweatier than a training session in an unaired gym, he had hoped that the four-hour bus ride to the summer camp site wouldn't have the kind of power to turn him into a fermented puddle.

But, naturally, it did.

Hoseok slept curled next to him, comfortably comatose, lips parting and closing whenever the bus hiccuped on the road. Apparently, Hoseok got carsick very easily, and the best way for him to fight the nausea was to sleep through the entire ride.

Kihyun didn't quite mind the quiet, but he wondered why Hoseok had to hog the window seat when he snoozed away anyway.

It wasn't even like he slept with his eyes open, like Minhyuk.

Speak of the devil.

“You better wake him up. We're almost there,” announced Minhyuk as he turned around, chin perched atop the headrest of his seat.

“Remind me what you're even doing here?” clipped Kihyun. He reached out and shook Hoseok's hand.

(A hand which was currently wrapped around Kihyun's thigh because Hoseok always had to clutch onto something. Especially when he wasn't feeling well.)

As Hoseok slowly stirred in his seat, spine cracking softly, Minhyuk disappeared behind the backrest. He fished something out from the bottom his bag: his signature notebook and pen. He waved them in the air with triumph.

“I'm here to report or your victory, or course.” Minhyuk blew on his nails. It was a gesture his mother always did when she was about to deliver a blow in an argument. “Or your loss.”

“We won't lose.”

“That's what Voldemort said.”

Kihyun grumbled. He turned to Hoseok and tugged the log-like guy up so he wouldn't drip down from his seat. The soles of Hoseok's shoes chafed over the floor, the sound dry and unpleasant. Hoseok plastered one sweaty hand on the window, the other one grabbing Kihyun, and he sleepily pulled himself up. He left an imprint on the glass.

He had the same look in his eyes that Kihyun had seen there during choir rehearsals. This dazed, stardusty stare that didn't focus on anything in particular because Hoseok had gotten a little lost within himself.

Startled, Hoseok glanced out of the window and back at Kihyun. He put his face on Kihyun's shoulder. The top of his head smelled strong but nice.

“Are we there already?” he mumbled.

“Almost,” said Kihyun.

Hoseok rubbed his face onto Kihyun. Down the dainty slope of his shoulder. And back up.

“I'll just keep my eyes closed for a little longer, okay?”

“Okay.”

Unsure what to do, Kihyun held steady, his spine rod-straight. He stroked Hoseok's stomach. It seemed to be the right thing to do because Hoseok went from tensed up to slack within seconds.

“This what you do in front of the love of your life?” said Minhyuk slyly.

“You're not the love of my life,” said Kihyun.

Creeping wider and wider, Minhyuk's grin could overshine the sun.

“I wasn't talking about me. I was talking about a certain Son Hyunwoo.”

Oh.

Kihyun had forgotten about the dude. But nobody could blame him when Hyunwoo had hardly spoken to anyone throughout the whole trip. The captain sat across the aisle, practically catatonic except for the swift movements of his thumbs hitting the screen of his phone. A hint of a double chin framed Hyunwoo's rounded jaw as he stared down, focusing on the game he was playing.

Kihyun put his hand back on Hoseok's stomach and rubbed it in circles, never once breaking eye contact with Minhyuk.

“It's buds before butts.”

Still smirking, Minhyuk slid back down in his seat, like a piece of slime. In no time, Kihyun could hear him and Jooheon push each other around and chuckle about Namjoon's sleeping face.

“I'm offended,” mumbled Hoseok through a weary smile. “I might be your bud, but I also have the best butt.”

“I wasn't questioning that.”

“Good.”

Hoseok snuggled closer and curled around Kihyun's body as the bus came to a halt with a dull tug. Both boys groaned.

The air wasn't much fresher outside, but it smelled of apple blossoms and earth and tar instead of gasoline and armpits, and Kihyun considered that a definite improvement. He grabbed his bags and trudged behind Minhyuk. He walked slowly so Hoseok would keep up.

The coaches led the way, grouping students into fours and giving out cabin keys. The students had all been to the camp last year, some even the year before. They knew their way around by now, and they immediately began to exchange keys so they could room with whomever they chose to. Basketball players with archers, fencers with tennists, first years with seniors. And the coaches let it slide because they'd been here before too, countless times, and knew better than to try and dissuade the makeshift black market.

Metal jangled. Footsteps fell. Someone ran back into the bus because they'd left their headphones there.

The road winded up a hill, lined by apple orchards. Kihyun's mouth watered.

But it ran dry as he walked up to his assorted cabin and realized that he had to room with Minhyuk, Jooheon, and Hoseok.

As if he hadn't seen enough of Minhyuk and Jooheon's objectionable courting rituals.

And of course, the two spitfires rammed through the door, bickering over bunk beds before Kihyun even mounted the short steps that led inside. When he peeked into the joint bedroom, Jooheon was already lying facedown on the mattress with Minhyuk perched on his back. Minhyuk bent over and viciously pecked Jooheon's chubby nape.

Kihyun sighed.

Something told him that these were going to be two very long weeks.

 

~

 

He had been wrong.

The first four days had wrung Kihyun out, coming and going as light. He barely remembered anything besides boiling in his own skin, the sensation of his knees getting scraped on gravel instead of shiny maple floor, and too-short showers.

It had all been a blur. Kihyun still wasn't even sure whether their coach's name was Cho or Choi. He just knew that the brusque woman had been on sick leave for over two months because of a semi-serious spine injury and that Hyunwoo had been managing the team in her stead in the meantime, sparing Kihyun the pleasure of meeting the woman face to face. Coach Cho (or Choi) still wore a funny collar around her neck to keep her posture straight, but that was the only funny thing about her.

Aside from that, she was war personified.

And Kihyun was a mere pawn in her clutches.

“Run, run, run, you soggy sack of bones!” she yelled, and Kihyun wanted nothing but to do _just that_ , and run, run, run, and never look back.

“You're lucky you're just a libero,” Seokjin told him with brother-like familiarity, limbs flailing as he jogged past.

“I feel blessed,” said Kihyun, voice hoarse.

Blessed as the forehead of a dying man.

After the daily session was over, Kihyun sat on the sun-bleached ground, not even bothering to leave the court first. Birds shrieked. Hoseok and the other Hoseok and Gunhee laughed about something on their way to the showers. Kihyun watched them in dismay. His lower body spasmed, rigid and slushy at the same time, and the rush of weakness that had overcome him once again wounded his pride.

A shadow crept over him. Kihyun gasped as Changkyun, the camp owners' fourteen-year-old son, chose this very moment to pour a whole bottle of iced water down his jersey from behind.

“I will _end_ you!” Kihyun squeaked.

Changkyun splashed the rest of the water on his head.

“I'm just keeping you alive and hydrated,” singsonged the kid.

“By watering me like a fucking houseplant?”

“That's the best way to do it. And speaking of watering you like a fucking houseplant... Look at this.” Lowering his tone, Changkyun fished something out of his pocket. Something small and flickering in the afternoon sun. A key.

“What does it unlock?” asked Kihyun suspiciously.

“The onsen.”

This time, Kihyun gasped with delight, which he quickly tried to mask. He didn't trust the kid just yet.

But the prospect of stealing into the gorgeous bathhouse which stood at the edge of the campsite was way too tempting, and Kihyun imagined the Japanese-styled pools and bridges and low stone walls shielding the place from strangers. He imagined a dozen of steaming streams pouring into the pools through a gently woven labyrinth of bamboo pipes.

He reckoned that after enduring coach Cho's (or... whatever) rigorous warm-ups, he deserved a nice, calm evening in a spa.

Kihyun pawed the grass, moving towards Changkyun like a sharp-faced little fox.

“Can I bring my roommates along?”

“Sure.” Changkyun dangled the key from the tip of his finger, his gloomy features brightening up. “But they have to prepare their own snacks.”

That was too good to be true.

Kihyun frowned. It was _too good to be true._

“Why are you being so nice?” he fired.

“Because you're the only person here who doesn't pay me dust. Including my parents.”

Kihyun sat back on his haunches.

He was a libero. _Free_ for the majority of the match. And while the other guys put their hearts into the game, only a half of Kihyun's heart was in it. The other half was just... there. So of course he had time to kill with the younger boy.

He decided that he could afford to kill some more.

“So, what kind of snacks do you like?” asked Kihyun, and Changkyun lit up.

A little while later, when the sky had crusted over with a silver veil of stardust, deepening and deepening from plum purple to black, Kihyun padded across the onsen. A tiny towel hung around his hips. He unwrapped it and sank into one of the pools. The water bubbled, lapping at his chest and singing softly. He sighed out. Hoseok sat by his side, submerging up to his shoulders.

“This is heaven,” said Kihyun, stretching his arms over the rim of the pool.

Pillowing his head on Kihyun's arm, Hoseok mumbled a soft “Right?”

Across from them, Minhyuk and Jooheon managed not to splash at each other for full ten seconds. Then, the heaven swiftly turned to hell.

Kihyun had no care in the world, though. No care at all. Nothing could faze him.

As if reading his thoughts, Changkyun cannonballed into the water.

Kihyun dripped. His mouth grew tight.

If Hyunwoo were here, he'd be able to do something. Sadly, Hyunwoo wasn't here, and neither was his signature disappointed dad expression.

Kihyun had tried to invite him, but Hyunwoo had already put on his reading glasses, and once Hyunwoo put on his reading glasses, it was over. There was no moving him. No persuading him. He might as well be an old, touch-smoothed stone statue. He had sent Kihyun packing with a “Sorry, Kihyunnie” and a mighty pat, already turning to Hyungwon the archer who roomed with the other half of the volleyball team.

It was alright, though. “Kihyunnie” didn't mind. At least he and the guys had more snacks for themselves.

Kihyun leaned back, a hiss parting his lips. Every cartilage in his body creaked.

The night was hot and shimmery. So was the water. Dense. Dark. The longer he sat there, the less he could see. Darkness travelled around him liquified. He'd gladly give himself over to it, close his eyes and rest forever, but the pain piercing his joints wouldn't let him.

Hoseok gently splashed at him.

“You look all uptight. Like you're holding a fart.”

“That's because I am,” deadpanned Kihyun.

Snorting, Hoseok drew closer.

“For real. What's with that face?”

“It's just my face.”

“Nope. Your regular face is all...” He pushed the corners of Kihyun's mouth up with two fingers.

Kihyun smacked him.

“'S nothing,” he slurred.

“C'mere, turn around.”

“Why? What are you up to?”

“I'll give you a backrub.”

Kihyun gave a grumpy grunt. He moved bit by bit, waddling deeper into the pool so Hoseok could squeeze behind him.

Warm hands enveloped his shoulders. Thumbs pressed into his skin.

Kihyun inhaled to say something, perhaps how nice it felt, but then Hoseok put force into the touch –

– and Kihyun folded like a freshly fallen leaf.

He face-planted into the water.

Even in this underwater realm, he heard Minhyuk and Changkyun hoot with laughter on the other side of the pool. What was worse, Kihyun heard Hoseok freak out. Throat tight and eyes stinging, Kihyun bubbled. He pushed backwards, emerging above the surface with his mouth open and hair slicked back. A pair of strong arms held him by the waist, dragging him further up, up against a very hard chest. Kihyun barely registered it.

“Were you that thirsty?” quipped Minhyuk.

Kihyun spat out water. The inside of his mouth tasted of sulphur.

“I guess that's a yes,” peeped Changkyun.

“Hoseok, what the fuck,” said Kihyun in an old man's voice. He elbowed Hoseok in the tit.

Hoseok reeled back, and Kihyun slipped from his lap and nearly dunked under the water for the second time. He whirled around and sloshed at Hoseok threateningly, which the big beef took with a repentant shrug and slumped shoulders. Kihyun splashed again, and, uncertain, Hoseok splashed back. A smile broke over his face.

And, uncertain, Kihyun smiled back.


	5. Captain Morgan

After deciding that Hoseok may live to see one more sunrise, Kihyun thought it fair to hog his bed in retaliation for turning him into a human submarine. Only Hoseok didn't let himself be exiled, and so they sat on the narrow back together, face to face, Hoseok gently towel drying Kihyun's hair.

Minhyuk strolled past, dressed in nothing but a towel. He whipped it off his body, stretched, turned around, and stretched again. He bent over and touched his toes.

“Every. Fucking. Evening,” muttered Kihyun, glaring at Minhyuk's globes as they glared back at him.

Minhyuk gave Kihyun an upside-down wink before he straightened up with a dramatic grunt.

“You're not the only one who's allowed to stay in shape,” he said.

“I'm not even in shape,” grumbled Kihyun.

“Of course you are. A fold is also a shape,” retorted Minhyuk.

“So is a very short stump,” Jooheon chipped in.

“All in all, you are extremely shapely, Ki. Some shapes are just nicer than others –”

Abruptly pausing to dodge the towel Kihyun threw at him, Minhyuk clutched it mid-flight with the grace of a professional baseball catcher and dried the rest of his gangly body with it.

“Do you want it back?” he asked sweetly when he was done.

Kihyun deemed it below himself to respond.

“Is that a yes?” Minhyuk dangled the towel in front of Kihyun's face. Other things dangled too.

“Go away.”

“You didn't answer me. Rude.”

“You know what's _actually_ considered rude in a polite company? Exposing your butthole.”

“What are you talking about? I was just _politely_ bowing to Jooheon. It's not my fault that you were right behind me,” said Minhyuk, grinning, and he nodded at Jooheon for support.

The boy grinned back, his dimples so deep that he could breed tiny goldfish there like in two little ponds.

“That's right, hyung.”

“But you didn't bow back,” accused Minhyuk. “That's also very rude.”

Apologizing profusely in a theatrical tone that could rival Minhyuk's, Jooheon sprung up from the bottom bunk and bowed deeply, back bent and eyes upturned. He traced several elaborate curls with his hand. He stayed bent over until Minhyuk flicked his wrist to dismiss him.

“Wait,” said Minhyuk as Jooheon was about to climb back onto the bed. “Do it again. Slowly. But turn around first.”

Hoseok got the joke first and chuckled. He shrugged noncommittally when Kihyun pierced him with a glare.

“You like jokes about bending people over?” he clipped.

“I just like bending over,” said Hoseok calmly, with that lovely little squishy smile, and Kihyun's saliva went down the wrong pipe.

“Funny.”

“I wasn't kidding.”

“What do you even know about bending over?” demanded Kihyun. “You're only eighteen.”

“I've slept with men before, Ki.”

Well, glaze his nipples and call him a doughnut.

Kihyun squirmed before he fell asleep that night. He blamed it on the swelter.

 

~

 

The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes were, as per usual, Minhyuk's globes.

“Every. Fucking. Morning,” Kihyun gritted out, hoarse from sleep which he desperately wanted to call back and let it engulf him in its grave-like blackness.

“Let a man stretch,” snipped Minhyuk, naked as night, and straightened up to crack his spine.

“I thought you liked stretching _other_ men.”

“I do. But I can be fit and flexible while I do it.”

Kihyun couldn't argue with that, so he simply rolled over, stuffed his face in the folds of his blanket, and tried to sleep the gruesome vision off. But the sun poured inside in warm yellow dust-dancing beams, and Kihyun became aware of the suffocating thickness of summer, and oh, Hoseok shifted on the top bunk, and once Hoseok shifted, the whole bed did.

It was Saturday. Coach Cho had taken a day off (and donned her tallest stilettos) to take a stroll around the town with Changkyun's aunt. The sun shone, but didn't burn. Kihyun walked out of the cabin, upturning his face, trying to sniff a trace of apple blossoms in the air. For a very brief moment, he felt at peace.

And then Hoseok peeked out of the door and said: “You know that we're playing against the local kids today, right?”

Kihyun sagged.

“We _what_?”

“We're having a match with the locals,” said Hoseok again, slowly.

“But... but coach Cho is on a date. I thought we were free.”

“We don't get to take days off, Ki. The championship's too close for that – and we haven't been able to train against other teams yet. We're at a disadvantage here.”

Apart from training, _period_ , it was above all training in front of absolute strangers that made Kihyun want to wrap himself into a neat envelope and ship himself back to Seoul.

His expression must've given him away.

“You're gonna do just fine,” said Hoseok.

“Define fine.”

Coaxing, Hoseok nudged him back inside the cabin, made him change into his sweaty jersey and shorts, and reminded Kihyun to use sunscreen (three times).

Kihyun's nose had begun to turn freckly and a permanent blush resided over his cheekbones, so he guessed he needed the advice. He counted himself lucky that Hoseok was always willing to share everything he owned. Mumbling a timid thanks, Kihyun took the bottle Hoseok was handing him and slathered a shiny layer of sunscreen all over his face, arms, and legs. It smelled of summer and coconut.

Funny. This whole time he'd thought it was Hoseok's shampoo he could smell.

The match took place on a sandy riverbank. Something about the whiteness of the sand and the hum of the river put Kihyun into a more approachable mood. He didn't go as far as to chat up the opponents – Changkyun amongst them – but he laughed easily as he watched Hoseok dip his bare foot in the river and waddle right back because it was so cold.

The locals were a bunch of seven boys, all tan in the face and used to moving around a lot. They were _tall_. Their captain had a couple of inches on Hyunwoo.

“Watch out for this one,” mouthed Hoseok. “He's really goddamn nasty to liberos.”

Kihyun's mood was gone.

“Thanks,” he said tightly.

The sun was a golden disc in the sky. The stream washed lazily over wet stones, frothing. Kihyun sat on the riverbank, pouring warm sand from one hand to the other to dry his sweating palms. He watched the match intently, set on analyzing the opposing team's hitters' technique. He knew that the other libero was doing the same thing before it was their turn to join the game.

Kihyun suddenly missed Minhyuk. As life-sucking as he could be, he was also very observant, and his sight didn't depend on a pair of glasses. But Minhyuk was nowhere to be seen.

When Kihyun's turn came, his stomach shrank. He tried to look taller as he assumed the base position at the back of the court.

They were in the lead. He was determined not to turn the tables in the locals' favour.

A whistle.

Kihyun crouched.

Eyes on the ball. Mind on the team. Position, platform, posture, he reminded himself.

The volleyball bounced off hands. Flew back and forth. Swooshed.

Kihyun passed a few easier balls. People were still just warming up, but they were warming up quickly.

Tucked in the back, Kihyun watched the tallest hitter. The hitter watched him.

A second later, Kihyun nearly decapitated his own teammate when a ball flew at him and he sent it forward too forcefully. Jooheon saved him, but Kihyun's breath quickened anyway. He had to set his teeth and talk himself into gaining his confidence back. At least you didn't let the ball fall, he repeated in his head until he calmed enough to zone back in.

Nobody laughed at his panic, no gapers derided him from the gym bleachers. Kihyun found it almost unsettling. When people laughed at him, he could harden himself. Challenge himself. Challenge _them_.

This wasn't about his ego, though.

The realization scared him. He was only as successful as the rest of the team. His team was only as successful as him.

Breathing through his mouth, Kihyun crouched lower. He moved faster, watched faster. Talked with his eyes.

Hyunwoo took a step. Hoseok took a step. And suddenly, Kihyun would bet his life savings that the tall hitter was about to send a close-fisted spike to the vacated space on his right. Kihyun dove there before the ball even left the other half of the court. He stretched his arms – slid over the sand – and he made it.

The dig was so perfect that it would make Kang Baekho cry – even though he was a baseball player.

Kihyun soared – watched the ball go, go, go from Hoseok to Seokjin – and then Seokjin hit it directly in the net. Curses and yells blended with happy shrieks from the opposite side of the court. Deflating, Kihyun stared as the ball rolled away, Gunhee running after it so it wouldn't plop into the river.

His ribcage seemed to be disintegrating. It fizzed under his skin. He swarmed.

He was used to fucking up. Knew the frustration of not being good enough. But he'd yet to do his part only to see someone else screw up.

If _this_ was how carved-out Hoseok and Hyunwoo felt whenever Kihyun fucked up, he'd rather go drown himself in the river like Ophelia than have them see him fail again.

They won the game in the end, and by no means by a close shave. Kihyun was oddly untouched by the victory. Returning smiles and handshakes, he couldn't bring himself to celebrate with the rest of the guys. Not properly. Clutching a bottle of lukewarm water, he stood there, watching the clouds go rosy. He listened as both teams discussed the best saves and hardest hits. Mind blank.

He couldn't shake off the thought that this was child's play.

While it had lasted, the match seemed to him the toughest, most important thing on earth. It had been life-shattering. Life-changing. In hindsight, he could only focus on the mistakes they'd made.

He didn't want to imagine what would happen if they pulled something like this during the championship.

 

~

 

It turned out that Minhyuk had gone to the town and returned with a suspiciously full and clinking backpack.

“Did you buy a whole glass manufacture?” asked Kihyun, eyeing the thing on Minhyuk's back.

“Nope.”

“What's in there?”

“Who knows?”

“It better be a fucking vase collection for your mom.”

“Whoops.”

“Lee Minhyuk, you did _not_ bring alcohol into this household.”

“Didn't I?”

Kihyun snatched the backpack from him. It weighed a fuckton.

He looked up, squinting hard.

“What if the coach finds out?” he demanded.

“I will tell her it's yours, obviously.”

“Don't freak out, hyung,” whined Jooheon. His soft fringe was up in a miniature ponytail. “We always get smashed here. Nobody has ever found out.”

Kihyun stared. Then, utterly betrayed, he turned to Hoseok.

Who shrugged at him.

“Not you too,” exclaimed Kihyun.

Hoseok shrugged again.

“Who else is coming?” inquired Jooheon, his baby ponytail bobbing above his forehead.

“Just the volleyball bunch,” said Minhyuk. “Oh, and that archer dude. Long one. Looks like a tube man in the wind. But pretty.”

“Hyungwon.”

“That's him. Anyway, Hyunwoo's bringing him because it would be kinda rude to leave the dude out. You know, since they're rooming together and all. I guess Hyunwoo didn't want to leave him there alone.”

For a heartbeat or two, the silence in the cabin was completely serene.

Hoseok broke it.

“Aren't you going to get mad?” he asked as he gazed down at Kihyun from his bunk.

Slowly, Kihyun handed the backpack back to Minhyuk. He copied Hoseok's shrug.

“If Hyunwoo's okay with it.”

“Interesting,” commented Minhyuk.

Kihyun bristled up.

“There's nothing interesting about it. What can I do to stop you when even our captain supports your dumbass ideas?”

Minhyuk pulled out two Captain Morgans. Something told Kihyun that he had the move pre-planned. Bottles of soju and beer followed. It was a big backpack.

“So it doesn't have anything to do with your colossal, gargantuous, cock-clenching crush on –”

“It's not even a proper crush,” said Kihyun to cut Minhyuk off.

“Wait, Kihyun has a crush on Hyunwoo?” Jooheon gaped.

“Not a proper crush,” said Kihyun stubbornly.

“You're really oblivious, honey,” said Minhyuk.

“That's a common thing amongst volleyball players,” said Kihyun under his breath.

“It sure is,” said Hoseok, voice neutral and head turned to the side. The shell of his ear looked particularly tiny.

Knowing that Hyunwoo was coming, Kihyun scuttled to the bathroom, took a brisk shower, and sprayed on his Jo Malone London cologne. As he walked back inside the cabin, Hoseok immediately fell behind him and started to scent his neck. Hoseok himself still smelled of coconut and summer and sun-soaked skin. Kihyun knew that because when he failed to fend Hoseok off, he decided to fight fire with fire and he aggressively sniffed back.

Grinning, Hoseok pushed against him and put up his arm.

Joke's on him, though. Kihyun had never seen a smoother, more groomed armpit. It smelled just like the rest of him.

Windows sealed up and the door locked, the cabin dimmed down. Shadows filtered through the room as a single lamp gave off obscure light, flowing over the eight figures that crowded together in a space intended for four.

Minhyuk's phone blared bad American hip hop. The really, really bad kind. Cringy kind. It was the “My neck, my back, lick my pussy and my crack” meets “Walk into the club like: What up, I got a big cock” kind of hip hop.

The Minhyuk type of music.

They were playing a quarter-assed combination of spin the bottle, truth and dare, and seven minutes in heaven (heaven being the tight space under Kihyun's bunk because the wardrobe wasn't big enough). Jooheon rapped about necks and backs. Minhyuk stared at him with fond pride. Hyunwoo beamed. Gunhee's _Thee Michelle Gun Elephant_ tee reeked of beer because he had spilled a whole can on himself.

Kihyun concluded that these were not the conditions in which it was advisable to stay sober. He chugged.

Nestled between his legs and resting his whole weight on Kihyun's tummy and chest, Hoseok tipped his head back, gazed up, and opened his mouth. Even when open, his mouth looked like he was smiling. Kihyun poured a drop of soju down Hoseok's tongue – a little more than a drop – and watched him swallow it.

Jooheon spun the bottle. The neck landed on Hoseok. Jooheon, who had just been dared to peck someone on the lips (Gunhee was still wiping his mouth), grinned through his blush.

“Truth or dare, hyung?”

“Wait a minute,” protested Hoseok. “The bottle's pointing at Kihyun, not me.”

“You're closer to it,” defended Kihyun.

“But this is technically your seat.”

“ _I_ am technically _your_ seat.”

“It's a double kill,” declared Minhyuk, patting Jooheon's shoulder as if saying “Good job!”

Before Kihyun had the chance to form any sensible argument, Jooheon asked:

“Truth or dare, hyungs?”


	6. Dare

“Truth or dare, hyungs?”

“Truth,” said Kihyun at the same time that Hoseok said: “Dare.”

The circle laughed.

“Okay, then. Since Kihyun obviously thinks that he's your seat, I dare you to sit _on_ him,” Jooheon addressed to Hoseok. “And stay there... for five rounds.”

Numerous “wooohs” and “uuuhs” followed the order. Seokjin gave a few squeaky chuckles and patted his knee like one of those hearty neighbourhood uncles who always sit in front of convenience stores when summer rolls around.

Hoseok nonchalantly picked himself up. He edged his body backwards, and on and on until he ended up perched on Kihyun's lap. He wiggled a bit before he got cosy.

From the look on Kihyun's face, one may think that he was about to receive the Last Judgement.

“So, hyung,” said Jooheon with unexpected slyness, turning his attention to the chair that was now Kihyun.

Kihyun didn't doubt for a second where the sudden sly streak had stemmed from. He'd left the sweet sweet boy in Minhyuk's talons for too long, and now it was too late to save him. Or to save himself, for that matter.

“Yes?” Kihyun croaked out.

“Earlier you said that you don't have a crush on anyone.” Jooheon put a closed fist under his chin, smiling so sugary that Kihyun already had the urge to forgive him for whatever was coming next. “Is that true?”

A flood of warmth prickled his skin.

“I don't have a crush. At least I don't define it as an actual crush yet. So, no.”

“But you _do_ find someone here attractive,” Jooheon pressed on.

“That's an off-topic question,” said Kihyun curtly. “Hoseok, spin the bottle.”

“Actually, it wasn't a question,” Minhyuk pointed out. “It was a statement based off your answer.”

“To which I don't have to add anything, you dildohead, because the game only requires me to answer once,” said Kihyun.

“How about we free Hoseok from his dare and ask Kihyun two questions instead?” Minhyuk turned to the rest of the boys. “Does that sound good?”

As the company started to debate the rules and Kihyun's fate, Kihyun's flesh crawled with another heat rush. He clutched Hoseok's sides, thumbs pressing deep. He grazed the older boy's hip bones underneath his touch with his blunt nails. There was urgency in his grasp. A plea, almost. Hoseok hadn't moved yet, but he might.

Meanwhile, the discussion had quietened down. Hyunwoo and Hyungwon, who had been the only ones arguing in Kihyun's favour – the good souls – went silent at last, overruled by the rest. Well, by Minhyuk, who was as loud as the rest anyway.

Victory written all over his face, Minhyuk turned back to Hoseok.

“So that's settled. You can climb down if you want to.”

“Thanks, but I'm comfy here.”

Kihyun released a breath. Thank fucking god.

The last thing he needed was being questioned about Hyunwoo in front of Hyunwoo.

In front of a clearly uninterested, beer-dumb Hyunwoo on top of that. There was only so much indifference Kihyun's pride could take.

Grateful that Hoseok decided to shield him from harm (Minhyuk. From Minhyuk.) like a friendly but unmovable gargoyle, Kihyun held on to him a little softer. But he held on to him, just to be sure.

Since Hoseok sat closer to the circle, he reached for the bottle and sent it spinning. It rolled counterclockwise for the longest time until it pointed to Gunhee. Hoseok dared him to chug a can of beer, which Gunhee did with a grin and a burp, and then Seokjin had to own up to catfishing on Tinder, Hyunwoo got asked if he'd ever cheated (of course not), and the other Hoseok got dared to strip to his underwear and knock on the fencers' cabin before running back. (He did.)

Minhyuk was getting antsy in his seat because he still hadn't gotten to (legally) smooch Jooheon under the bunk. His luck took another longcut, though. Minhyuk grimaced as the bottle landed on Hyungwon.

“Dare,” said Hyungwon without hesitation.

“Give someone a lap dance,” grinned the other Hoseok.

Staring, and then stumbling up to his feet, Hyungwon looked like a deer in the headlights. He'd only had four shots of soju or so, to Kihyun's knowledge, but he swayed in place like the lightweight he was. He hiccuped, lurching a little. Looking for a victim. He reminded Kihyun of spindly lilac trees whose branches shiver as breeze rises.

Hyungwon did the best thing he could do given his circumstances. He settled for Hyunwoo, who sat in a polite pile right besides him. Hyungwon grabbed the dude's shoulders and moved his hips in waves, lazily. Once, twice. He rode the rhythm well. There wasn't an ounce of awkwardness to his movements now that he'd begun, though the big, shy smile that broke over his face told a different story.

The song skipped and ended. Hyungwon looked at Minhyuk's phone, pondering, and then he turned his back to Hyunwoo and gave him a view of what was probably the twerking of the century. The boys shrieked.

The only one who wasn't hooting out loud was Hyunwoo. He covered half of his face in his big hand, smiling too hard to laugh. Kihyun had yet to see the captain flustered, and he cackled at the sight.

When Hyungwon twirled the bottle next, it landed on Hyunwoo. Hyungwon looked ready to avenge himself.

“Now _you_ dance for _us_ ,” he drawled, waving one thin hand to prompt Hyunwoo to stand up.

Pliant, Hyunwoo did as told. He was a little heavy on his feet, taking one timid glance around the room. He strained his ears to pick up the melody as he began to move.

Fuck me sideways, thought Kihyun.

Hyunwoo could shatter the Earth with that stare and that flow.

Kihyun stopped cackling. He'd seen Taemin dance like this before. This good. This... fluid.

He had no fucking idea Hyunwoo was a dancer.

He missed an inhale and exhaled twice, draining all the air out until it hurt because there was nothing left in his chest. He thought of the smooth, swan-like curve of Taemin's neck when he trained in front of a mirrored wall. When he danced in front of other people. For other people.

Always other people.

Hyunwoo looked nothing like a swan, but all like Taemin at that moment.

Something in Kihyun's stomach clenched and he looked away. It was easy, to just crouch behind Hoseok and wait the show out, mapping the print of Hoseok's sleeveless jersey top with dull eyes. He idly counted how many rounds he had left to play hide-and-seek behind Hoseok's back. One? Or none? He wasn't sure.

Hyunwoo finished the performance, the song fading out. The guys clapped and cheered on him way too loud for a bunch of dumbasses who weren't trying to get caught drinking, but nobody cared, not even Hyunwoo. Beaming, he sat back down. He would beam forever if Gunhee didn't remind him to spin the bottle. Letting out a serious “Ah!” and bending forward, Hyunwoo reached for the bottle and sent it spiralling.

It fell on Hoseok.

“Truth or dare, Hoseokkie?”

“Dare.”

Concentrating, Hyunwoo rubbed his chin.

“I can only think of dancing right now,” he said, chuckling sheepishly.

“Dancing's fine,” said Hoseok, and Kihyun burned to say “Define fine.”

“At least make it a lap dance,” whined Jooheon. “This is getting too tame.”

“He's right,” declared Minhyuk because of course he did. “We can't let everyone off so easy.”

Kihyun didn't know about _easy_.

“I'm okay with whatever,” declared Hoseok. “But Hyunwoo has to join in. You guys were way too gentle with him just because he's the captain.”

Before Kihyun knew it, the cosy weight on top of him vanished, leaving him weirdly light; weirdly cold. He rubbed his arms, soothing a rush of not-there-yet goosebumps. He stared at this new Hoseok – this tall-looking, demanding jock who threw his hyung under the bus with a sweet but diminishing smile. Hyunwoo blinked up too, regarding Hoseok to see if he was being serious.

But he was.

Obviously taken aback, Hyunwoo obeyed and rose. He moved like a slowed down movie in his beer haze.

Hoseok leaned into Hyunwoo and muttered something in his ear. The taller guy pulled back, nodded, and trudged to grab a chair which he placed in the middle of the room.

At the same time, Hoseok took Kihyun's hand and hauled him up, handling him the same way an autumn windstorm tears and throws a paper kite across the sky. He sat Kihyun on the chair. Gaze steady. Hands splayed over his small, sharp shoulders.

“I'll choose the song,” told Hoseok to no one in particular. He sounded way too sober; so sober that it reminded Kihyun of how tipsy he was.

Kihyun sat in the chair with his heart beating at the back of his tongue. Burying himself deeper into the uncomfortable wooden seat, he flitted his gaze from Hoseok to Hyunwoo to his own lap. He let his arms hang down his sides, then gripped the legs of the chair for support. He might need it.

A slow, old-sounding song filled the wanly lit space. Kihyun thought he knew the sound of it – he'd probably heard it on the radio somewhere, sometime. It was the kind of song that stretched with the intensity of smoke, swimming through bodies. Dizzying the contours of all objects that stood close and washing colours together.

There were _electric guitars_. Lovewords. Harsh, whispery voices.

Hoseok had chosen a cheesy rock ballad.

Kihyun's mind went dazed; or only a half of it. The other half reeled, replaying to him a mosaic of gritty 80s movies about go-getter strippers and gangsters and glittery clubs. Kihyun blushed so bad that even the backs of his hands turned rosy, and nobody had even approached him yet.

This was bad.

This was worse than with Taemin.

This Hoseok – was dangerous.

Fortunately, Kihyun didn't have to face him; not just yet. Body charged with a darkness Kihyun had no name for, Hoseok stood behind the chair, leaving Hyunwoo the room to dance in front of Kihyun first. Dance for him.

Someone whistled. Kihyun was generous enough to let it go, or too afraid _not_ to let it go, or just afraid. He kept his eyes on Hyunwoo's chest.

Getting his groove back easy enough, Hyunwoo did a few experimental moves, thrusting his hips to the beat of the drums. He went low, knees bent and apart, arms shielding his face as he looked to the side and tried not to laugh. All it did was send a wave of laughter through his modest but loud audience.

A strong pair of arms draped around Kihyun's neck and chest from behind. He smelled coconut and soju and, distantly, his own cologne. His eyes watered, but they didn't leave Hyunwoo. Heat pulsing in his temples and throat, Kihyun counted the buttons of Hyunwoo's shirt. And when he finished counting, he counted again. He couldn't look up. Couldn't look back.

Having no escape route, he watched the show before him: the ebb and flow of Hyunwoo's limbs, the control and grace in his legs. The power that poured into his expression when he gave himself to dance. In awhile, Kihyun filtered out the hum of voices, even the hum of music. He locked himself inside his head, the glaze of Hyunwoo's tan doing nothing to him.

Laying a warm hand above Kihyun's heart, Hyunwoo did his last move and walked past him, changing places with Hoseok.

Lighter, paler fingers ghosted over the beating spot between Kihyun's collarbones, dancing like dust as Hoseok circled him. Chest heaving, he swayed from side to side. Had his waist always been this trim?

Kihyun gripped onto the seat of his chair.

The guitars wailed. The singer shrieked his soul out.

And Hoseok – Hoseok made Kihyun look up at him, palm splayed over his neck and an unrelenting thumb pushing his chin up.

Unlike Hyunwoo, Hoseok didn't just _stand_ in front of him. Didn't just _dance_. He put one knee on the chair and leaned in, shielding Kihyun from the light. Shadows ran down Kihyun's face. Hoseok himself became something between light and a clear-cut void. Where the lamplight reached over his shoulders and under his arms, his skin shimmered a snow-under-the-sun kind of shimmer, gold-speckled, probably wet to the touch but not to the sight.

Hoseok brought his hips lower, rolling them, not even touching Kihyun yet – unless he counted the hand that held his face upturned, as if keeping him waiting for something. Telling him to wait. Last time someone had held him like this, it had been because of a kiss, and Kihyun swallowed just thinking about it.

He wished for the song to end. For the room to be empty. For all lights to go out, and for someone to tip his head even further back and drag their lips over his ear before kissing him.

He was beating all over, off-beat.

Hoseok got closer still, and he ground into Kihyun, watching him back. Soaking up Kihyun's reactions. Unrushed, he brought Hyunwoo's hands to Kihyun's cheeks – fuck – and Kihyun's startled gaze locked onto Hoseok's.

It lasted for a shred of a second. Then, Hoseok tore away and turned around and stretched himself over Kihyun's lap, legs partially open. Hyunwoo's rough fingertips stroking Kihyun's cheekbones and Hoseok arching against him, Kihyun started in his seat. Head thrumming, he thought he heard laughter – glass clinking – voices blending – but none of that really registered with him. The sound of Hoseok's clothes sliding over his and creasing into ripples robbed Kihyun of any other perception.

Back curving into Kihyun's chest, Hoseok ground down again. He leaned his head to the side, cheek gently bumping Hyunwoo's hand. Kihyun observed him from the corner of his eye, Hoseok's breath fanning the side of his mouth. Hyunwoo was the only thing separating them.

Strong hands covered Kihyun's at the edge of the seat. Not uttering a sound, Hoseok shifted his thighs so they lay on top of Kihyun's, and he spread them, forcing Kihyun's thighs apart as well.

Kihyun went rigid.

His body drained of heartbeat. His skin turned to ashes wherever it met Hoseok's skin.

One moment, he was numb; the other, his cock heaved like a wave, sensitive to every brush and push. It ached under Hoseok, swelling almost perfectly to wedge itself between his ass cheeks.

Kihyun's lips hurt when he opened his mouth, dried and sticking together. This was the longest fucking song of his life.

And then, before he could calm down and go soft, it was over.

None of the dares had yet led to such a thunderous applause. The level of enthusiasm this partially straight company had for boys dry humping each other would have impressed Kihyun, had the little performance not shattered his good sense and ability to be a sarcastic little shit.

Hoseok gave Kihyun only enough time to tuck his cock so it wouldn't tent the fabric of his jeans – and then he was gone. Sluggish, and picking himself up as though he was made of cubes of wood that got jammed together with every movement, Kihyun stood up. He quickly grabbed the chair and lifted it up, holding it tight against his stomach and crotch. He shamefully hauled the chair to the darkest, deepest corner of the cabin, hoping for his hard-on to go down in the meantime.

“What's taking you so long?” someone called, probably Gunhee, though to Kihyun it made no difference in his stupor.

He had to approach the others with hands casually thrust in his pockets, willing his face and body language to be as blank as possible.

He sat down with his legs drawn to his chest, settling in place just as Hoseok pushed the bottle by the neck. Watching it spin, he crooned in broken English as another Minhyuk-bop came on shuffle. When Hoseok did this, all smiles, he was a whole new person altogether again. He was just the boy Kihyun knew.

Hesitating before Jooheon, the bottle rolled over a groove in the floor and pointed to Kihyun.

“For fuck's sake,” whined Kihyun. He pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“Truth or dare?” Hoseok gazed at him.

“Truth.”

“Are you afraid of dares?” Minhyuk cut in.

Kihyun's mouth set into a thin line. “Dare.”

Forgetting or ignoring the fact that it was Hoseok's turn to choose, Minhyuk climbed to his knees, hands splayed on the floor in front of him. He burned through Kihyun with an intense, laughter-like look.

“Remember the bet we made?”

Kihyun stiffened. “Yeah.”

“I want to raise the stakes.”

Thoughts tessellating, Kihyun cast a quick glance around. All eyes were on him.

“Alright?” he said, uncertain.

“If you win, I'll do whatever you want.”

“Ask out you-know-who,” fired Kihyun without a second thought.

That seemed to throw Minhyuk off, though only for a moment. He gave a shrug.

“I'm in. But if you lose, you'll have to run across the whole court.” His expression hardened. “Naked.”

By then, the stuffy space swarmed with voices and cries and, above all, questions. Everyone wanted to know about the mysterious person Minhyuk was supposed to take out and, naturally, about the bet – _guys, what bet?! Oi! Can somebody fucking answer?_

Neither Minhyuk nor Kihyun replied, staring at each other instead, having a whole conversation without words. Minhyuk had the guts to grin.

Must have been easy for him to simper like a motherfucker, Kihyun thought with a sour taste in his mouth, when all he had to do was make his courting official and confess. Minhyuk hadn't exactly been subtle about it till now, either. It was just that Jooheon was one blind baby.

Kihyun was on the verge of breaking down – or breaking into a dead laughter. He would rather court someone than run across the court butt ass naked.

Like fuck he was going to back down, though.

“I'm in,” he gritted out.

There were tiny bonfires in Minhyuk's eyes. Kihyun immediately wanted to take his word back. Call the whole bet off, if he had to. He looked up and met Hyunwoo's ponderous face, and Jooheon's shocked one, and Hoseok's, which hovered somewhere between curiosity and – and –

And _like fuck Kihyun was going to back down_.

He squared his shoulders and poured a lukewarm glass of soju down his throat.

He downed several more after that.

On the bright side, his cock had gone completely flaccid.


	7. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (early) birthday, lil Lily.

It was past three in the morning when the party ended, the distinguished and utterly shit-faced guests dissipating into the night one after another. Gunhee and the other Hoseok had to carry Seokjin, who'd chugged down an entire bottle of Captain Morgan as a penalty for refusing to do twenty push-ups. (Hyunwoo still looked fairly sad that his well-intended dare had turned Seokjin into a puking pile of self-pity.)

Leaning against the handrail of the stairs, Kihyun gazed on until the guys' figures blended with the black. He sighed and scratched his arm because a mosquito sat on it. The scent of the apple orchards that stretched over the horizon grew earthier at night, heavy in the humid air.

It was so humid.

But it was better than inside.

When Hoseok peeked out of the cabin to check on him, Kihyun lied that he needed to take a leak and disappeared in the dark. Dew tickled his ankles with cool droplets. He crossed the campsite and, slowing down, he took a turn around the Im family house instead of heading towards the restrooms.

He'd hoped to somehow climb the wall to the onsen and soak his feet for a bit, but a trickle of bluish light flooding the grass in a clean-cut square stopped him. He glanced up and into the window the light was coming from. It was open. Too tipsy to think, Kihyun stalked towards it, reached for the windowsill, and stood on his tiptoes.

Changkyun sat cross-legged on a dented couch. The thing was bare save for a pile of pillows and blankets pushed to the very side, which made Kihyun think that the piece of furniture actually substituted Changkyun's bed. When he looked around the gamer cave, there really was nothing beside the couch to sleep on. The space was roomy, though. Full of sharp objects and shiny posters and sleek TV and PC screens.

Kihyun gazed ahead again. He noted that Changkyun wore only a pair of briefs. His too-big features and spotty skin looked sallow in the ghastly glare of the screen he was glued to.

His parental senses kicking in, Kihyun pulled a face.

“It's late, you little shit!”

Changkyun threw the controller at the window and shrieked. His foot flailed in the air.

“The fuck!” he yelped.

“Right back at you,” said Kihyun through teeth, trying to crawl inside the window and sliding right back down. The rough texture of the wall scraped his tummy. “What the fuck are you doing? It's three in the morning!”

“What the fuck are _you_ doing awake?” hissed Changkyun as he burrowed himself in a blanket and waddled close.

Kihyun looked at his hairy shins.

“Nudist.”

“If I'm a nudist, what does that make you? You old creep!”

“I wasn't even creeping!” huffed Kihyun, hopping up and down.

“You're creeping now!”

Leaning out of the window, Changkyun scanned the surroundings for more silhouettes and shadows in case the other guys lurked nearby.

There wasn't anyone besides Kihyun. Visibly relieved, Changkyun took a closer look at the older boy, who'd given up on trying to climb in and stood there unmoving with his chin and hands on the windowsill.

The glossy softness in Kihyun's eyes prompted Changkyun to squint.

“Hyung, are you drunk?”

“Define drunk.”

“Drunk – affected by alcohol to the extent of losing control of one's faculties or behaviour.”

Kihyun gaped. “Heck.”

“You're drunk!” accused Changkyun.

“And you're naked.”

“Did you guys have fun getting smashed?” asked the boy, his already thin lips thinning even more. “Without me?”

“You're fourteen. One glass and I would have to change your nappy.”

“I don't wear nappies, git.”

“You don't exactly wear anything.”

“At least my breath doesn't reek of pubs and booty crumbs.”

Face blank, Kihyun blew at him. Changkyun shrieked again.

They started to smack each other, grabbing onto forearms and ears and fingers, until one of them cracked and pulled away. Kihyun liked to think that it was Changkyun.

A creak of wood silenced them both. They listened for footsteps, but it must've been just the house settling. Changkyun turned back to Kihyun.

“Hyung, why are you here?”

Kihyun went quiet; quieter than before. Resting his chin on the clammy aluminium surface of the windowsill, he thought long and hard.

“I'm running away,” he murmured at last.

The dramatic reaction he'd waited for never came.

“Sweet,” said Changkyun. “Can I go with you? Are we running back to Seoul? Do you think your parents would let me crash with you for a couple of days?”

“I'm not _literally_ running, you walnut,” said Kihyun. “I'm spiritually running.”

“Oh. Well.” The kid cleared his throat. “Sounds like what you do on the court.”

“I'm sorry?” Kihyun stood as tall as he could. “I'll have you know that I've gotten really good at running. Even the coach says so.”

“That's just a ploy to feed your enormous ego and get your tiny ass going.”

Kihyun glowered. But sooner than the teacup storm on his face could affect Changkyun at all, he hung his head. He hit the wall with the tip of his shoe several times.

“I'm pretty shit at it, aren't I,” whispered Kihyun.

“You're _kinda_ shit.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

“You're not the worst. You're the worst in your team – but, like – that's because you joined them like two minutes ago. It's not your fault that they're better trained. You're trying really, really hard.”

“It's not enough, though. _Trying_ isn't good enough,” said Kihyun and glanced down.

Thinking, Changkyun looked at the stars, and at Kihyun, and at the rolling darkness that stretched in outlines and contours of cabins and trees towards the horizon. He shed the blanket and threw on a pair of flashy nylon shorts and an unicolour tee. Then, locking the door of his room from the inside and flicking the PC off, he walked back to the window. He hoisted himself up and jumped out, landing on the balls of his feet. He took Kihyun by the wrist.

“C'mon. The drunker you are, the better. I'll teach you some tricks.”

“You?” intoned Kihyun. “Teach me?”

“Yeah. Unlike your precious buff boyfriends, I've actually played as a libero before.”

Stunned, Kihyun let Changkyun lead the way, their fingers linked.

 

~

 

Changkyun brought him to the riverbank. They'd run the better part of the way, starshine lighting up the path of gravel and sand before them.

Wetness had collected between Kihyun's fingers and he wiped his hands on his shirt when Changkyun let go of him. Crouching under the net which stretched black against the cloudless sky, Changkyun searched for the ball that the guys had left there earlier, buried somewhere in the sand.

The moon hung low, casting satiny silver streaks over the riverbank and into the river. The heaving river drowned the beams amongst its dark waves. This close to the water, Kihyun felt a shiver seep into him, surging under his skin from his feet to his face. He trembled.

“Stay where you are,” instructed Changkyun, ducking under the net and taking a few steps into the other half of the makeshift court. The cooled down sand shifted and crunched under his footsteps. “I've had plenty of time to watch you play, hyung. And you're not terrible, trust me. You're just not using your body right.”

“But whatever I do is what Hoseok told me to do,” defended Kihyun.

“Forget Hoseok. He's flexible as fuck and strong as two fucks. You're neither of that.”

“ _Gee_. Fucking _thanks_.”

“You're welcome. Now.” Changkyun assumed the base position, Kihyun unconsciously following suit. “Focus on what _you_ have.”

Kihyun ruminated over that.

“Bad eyesight?” he offered.

“No,” whined Changkyun. “I mean, yeah, probably. But focus on the good stuff.”

“The good stuff. Okay.” Kihyun reflected for a bit. “I have good grades,” he said lamely.

“For fuck's sake. No! You have a thick chest and thick calves.”

“I have what now?”

“You and I have the same built,” insisted Changkyun. “We have weak arms and small hands, but we rarely lose balance when we stand like this –” (He ground his feet deeper into the sand.) “– and we are stocky right here.” He patted his breastbone.

Blinking the last soju clouds from his eyes, Kihyun shifted his weight from left to right.

“And what about it?”

“Make use of it, you soju breath.”

“How, though?” Kihyun snipped back. “I can't just hit the ball with my tits.”

From the pointed silence that followed, Kihyun got a strange, creeping inkling that that was exactly what Changkyun expected him to do.

He shifted his weight again. Hesitant, he peered into the night.

“Nooo...” he said, voice barely breaking the hush.

“Yes,” said Changkyun.

“But – that's against the rules. It has to be.” He licked his lips. “Isn't it?”

“Of course not. You can literally even kick the ball if it comes to it. You can use all you've got – and since you're so small, you really _have to_ use it all.”

“But...”

“I know that your precious hyungs are probably above all that, but you're a libero. We don't get to choose. We don't get to half-ass things to look cool on the court. We have to be everywhere, all the time. With all we have.”

There was a pregnant pause. Breeze put the threads of the volleyball net in motion, swaying them softly.

To say that Kihyun was taken aback would be an understatement. He helplessly clasped his hands together.

Changkyun was right.

It hit Kihyun like an extremely nasty serve. He'd been following Hyunwoo and Hoseok's suit without sparing a thought to his own limits. His own advantages.

“I wouldn't expect a motivational speech on sports from someone who literally never leaves the house and has more World of Warcraft characters than friends,” hiccuped Kihyun. He took a timid step forward. “I didn't even know you liked volleyball.”

“Yeah, well, don't blow my cover, or I'll have to go outside more often.”

“You dislike being alone, though.”

“I dislike being around people just to fill the quota just as much.”

Kihyun closed his mouth, like a little clam.

He had no idea whether it was guilt, or intoxication, or the dormant burn within him to be good at anything besides studying, but when Changkyun began to throw the ball his way, Kihyun heeded his every order and remark. He was a pawn, a puppet at Changkyun's mercy, and he minded none of it. He chased the volleyball in any way he could – blocking it with his chest, sending it flying across the court with a kick, hitting it with his forearms. One time, he even fell on the ground and rolled over so he could fend off a particularly low serve. The ball hit him hard and jumped off his back, going high enough that any sensible hitter would be able to finish the job and send it over the net.

Changkyun shouted.

“That was goddamn good!”

“I didn't aim it anywhere, though,” protested Kihyun. He grasped around as the picked himself up, hands full of sand. “It just flew away.”

“The important thing is that you didn't let it touch the ground. Let your teammates worry about the rest. They're there too.”

They went on until the first rosy veins of dawn weaved themselves into the strip of sky above the orchards. Lying down on the ground beside each other, breathy and with grains of sand sticking to their skin, they watched the darkness water down.

“Hyung?” murmured Changkyun.

“Yeah?”

“What is it like in Seoul?”

“Crowded.” He reached into the waters of his memory, unearthing the thousand times seen blocks of steel and glass and too-green greenery. “Concrete.”

“But is it better there?” His breathing becoming even, Changkyun hesitated. “Do people give shit there? At all?”

“I dunno,” said Kihyun honestly. “But I do.”

The moon had gone. It still hung somewhere behind the crowns of the apple trees, only they couldn't see it anymore. As its shine vanished, a light went on in Kihyun's head.

“Is there a way you could try out the entrance exams at our school?” he blurted. “Would your parents let you?”

“I suppose yeah. They've always wanted me to choose a good school. You know, prestigious. I don't think they meant a school in Seoul, but they never said I _can't_ go there, so I guess I could sway them.” He turned to Kihyun, a tinge of hope colouring his tone. “They have this dream that I'll be a scientist one day. The better the school, the more likely that's going to happen, right? And the sooner they'll send me away.”

“I could talk to them, if you want,” offered Kihyun. “Drop a few hints here and there that we've got some nice summer engineering programs over there.”

“You would?” asked Changkyun, moving onto his side. But then he went quiet, as if the stream of his thoughts had been cut. “You won't be there anymore by the time I'm old enough to go, though.”

“Dumbass,” said Kihyun. He flicked the kid's forehead. “I'll still study literally behind the corner when I'm in college. Seoul is huge, but it's also not huge at all. You know? Everything is kind of smushed into one place.”

“You're really fucking nice, hyung.”

Kihyun's mouth went dry. “Likewise.”

“No. You don't get it. You're really –” Changkyun grasped for words, and he also grasped for Kihyun's wrist and squeezed it. “You're really the only one who's ever even noticed that I'm here. Ever.”

“That's because I have way too much time on my hands. I'm just a libero. The other players –”

“Other teams have liberos too. You're still the first one to talk to me.”

“What other teams?”

“Teams from different schools. You guys aren't the only ones who come here every year,” said Changkyun, playing with Kihyun's hand and tossing it around. “We're usually booked for a whole month before that championship thingy comes around. I think there's actually another Seoul team scheduled to come tomorrow. One of your opponents.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Don't be scared,” said Changkyun, picking up on the tension in Kihyun's limbs. He rubbed a thumb over the dainty bone in Kihyun's wrist. “You're getting better every day.”

Kihyun bristled up. “I'm not scared.”

“Good. Because fear breaks you down. Don't give me that look, I mean it. Some people are fueled by fear, but not you. _You_ are the best when you're pissed.”

“That doesn't sound healthy,” snorted Kihyun.

“But it serves the purpose. You must've noticed that play the best when something or someone gets on your nerves, haven't you? Because you usually look lost when you waddle amongst all those huge dudes, but when you snap, suddenly it's over for everyone. Every serve is your bitch.”

“Perfect. I guess I can take the cup and have a stroke in one go.”

“It's a skill.”

“What should I do when there's nothing or no one to annoy the shit out of me, you smartass?” said Kihyun. The core of his stomach clenched. For every advantage he gained, he discovered a new weakness.

“Well, that's why you've got me,” shrugged Changkyun. “I'll come by and point at your dumb mug and say: _Do you see that ugly runt? Do you see him, that tiny tosser? He's seventeen and he's my size!_ ”

Laughter ran through the receding dusk, and so did Changkyun with Kihyun hot on his heels, and the river laughed with them.

 

~

 

He trodded towards the cabin when the dawn was already in full force. Opening the door as quietly as the old, dried up wood would allow him, Kihyun slipped inside. It was ink-black. With the windows still obstructed, their unaired temporary home turned into a labyrinth full of obstacles to cross. Kihyun soundlessly tiptoed his way to his bed. He shed his shirt and climbed in.

Only there was already someone in it.

Kihyun barely swallowed a squeal. A solid and awfully warm body rolled over and pressed into Kihyun with all its might.

“Hi,” said Hoseok. The sleepiness in his voice ran right through Kihyun like an echo of a river, reverberating a little.

“Morning,” whispered Kihyun.

“I was looking for you.”

He winced. He was supposed to come back ages ago.

“Sorry. I got... I went for a walk,” he lied.

“You're all cold,” commented Hoseok, yawning. He didn't bother to cover his mouth. “Cold all over.”

“Don't be so grabby.”

Giving a lazy chuckle, Hoseok was suddenly even _more_ grabby. He rubbed Kihyun's back, warming it up in slow strokes. Touching the backs of his bare arms. Tapping his elbows.

“Ki?”

“Yeah?”

“Truth or dare?”

Bating his breath, Kihyun squeezed out a small “Truth.”

There was a silent sound, the sound of someone smiling – the soft, wet flutter of lips parting.

“Did you have a boner? Back when Hyunwoo and I danced for you?”

Kihyun flushed a dark, dusted shade of red.

“It was a broner!”

Giggling, Hoseok lay closer.

“Sure,” he simpered.

Kihyun kicked him, earning himself a yelp. The split-second satisfaction soon turned to defeat as Hoseok tangled their legs together and held Kihyun's thrashing feet down. A couple of tiny grunts whispered through the dark. Kihyun had gotten a little stronger over the past few weeks, but no amount of time could make him stronger than Hoseok. He eventually gave up, settling for a scowl.

A scowl which allowed Hoseok to simper harder.

“Ki?” he asked again.

“Yes?” clipped Kihyun.

“Truth or dare?”

He hesitated. “Truth.”

“If you had to give someone a lap dance...”

“Who would it be?” finished Kihyun.

“Nah. I know who it would be. What song would you choose?”

“I don't know.” But he _did_ know. He knew. It came to him instantly, enclosing him in the indoor fort lighted up with fairy lights. He heard the singer – Jhnovr, was it? – spill his guts for everyone to see, singing in that fragile voice that men had right before or after coming. Tired. Teary. For once completely unguarded.

“That's fair. There's too many good songs to choose from,” said Hoseok, and Kihyun ached to ask why he'd picked such a dad song when he'd danced for him. Hoseok didn't let him speak, though. He brushed his cheek over the pillow. “Truth or dare, Ki?”

“Truth, of course,” murmured Kihyun.

“Do you have a crush on Hyunwoo or not?”

“No. I don't think so. Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

Kihyun saw very little of Hoseok's eyes. Their shape. The black, glossy glint in them.

“It's... it's difficult.” Kihyun thought brief but hard. “If he fell for me, I would fall right back. I'm not there yet, but I could be. I want to be.”

Someone shuffled and snored on the other side of the room. Stiffening, Kihyun suppressed the urge to turn around and check if Minhyuk and Jooheon were sleeping. He listened for awhile, and when he heard nothing but rhythmic snores, he gazed back at Hoseok. The soft slopes of his brow and nose caught a shimmer of moonlight.

Kihyun found himself speaking again. Sentences left his lips in short staccatos.

“I want to be enough for someone. For someone like Hyunwoo. Someone nice. You know? I want someone nice. I'm tired of being the only one who's serious about this. I deserve... I don't even know.”

Silent, Hoseok gave him a soulsearch of a look; the longest look Kihyun had to ever endure. He turned timid. A burn in his eyes made him blink.

“You deserve it.”

Kihyun inhaled. He tried to say something, but he came up empty. He had nothing to say.

Tousling his fringe, Hoseok pressed the lightest peck on Kihyun's forehead. Kihyun stared. Confused, and as if competing with him, he scooted over and pecked Hoseok back.

Hoseok just smiled.

“Goodnight.”

“Night,” said Kihyun. Something jostled him then, bringing his body to the verge of touching Hoseok. “Wait. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Choose truth, please.”

Going from smiling to serious within seconds, Hoseok pillowed his head on his arm.

“Okay. Truth.”

“Have you really slept with men before?”

“Yes.” Hoseok's lids grew heavy. “Why?”

“Just asking.”

Kihyun turned his back to him. Behind him, Hoseok shifted too, pressing his back into Kihyun's, and the smaller boy thrashed as a washed-out wave of warmth embraced him.

He got two fitful hours of sleep.


	8. Roll with the Punches

He woke up with the sourest breath and mood. The skin on his chest was tight and tingling from the hits he had endured the night before. Changkyun had conveniently forgotten to tell him that fending off balls with your tits _hurt_.

Eyes closing, as if carved into a freshly forged piece of steel that sizzled to seal the slits back, Kihyun got up and rummaged for clean clothes. Around him voices already buzzed. Vapours of alcohol drowned his lungs. Unfocused, he found a pair of briefs and shorts and followed the guys to the restrooms. He needed a shower; the colder the better.

And cold it was. Kihyun regretted his rash wishes instantly as he stepped under the showerhead and let glass-like shards of glacial water pour down his neck and back. He soaped and shampooed himself so quickly that he was sure some of the foam stayed etched behind his ears.

Beside him, Hoseok yelped and danced under the stream, splashing icy droplets on the side of Kihyun's face. During one of his convoluted moves, he hopped from under the water and crashed into Kihyun.

Hissing, Kihyun put a hand over the sore skin on his sternum. He glanced down and noticed for the second time that morning how swollen it was.

Another hand lay over his.

“What the fuck, Ki,” said Hoseok, dark hair hanging over his creased forehead and dripping. “What have you done?”

“Nothing.”

“It's bruised.”

“It's barely a little bit pink,” Kihyun dismissed, pulling his hand from under Hoseok's. He succeeded, but Hoseok just touched him bare, calloused fingers running over the soft, freckled skin.

“Guys, we're literally right here,” grouched Jooheon.

“Shush,” said Hoseok softly. “You do this with Minhyuk all the time.”

“Yeah, you don't have to worry about that anymore,” replied Jooheon.

Something about the way he'd said it was off. Hoseok noticed it too and he turned to give Jooheon a puzzled once-over. His fingers still fluttered against Kihyun's chest.

Taking advantage of Hoseok's inattention, Kihyun gently slapped him away. He rinsed for the last time and rushed to wrap himself in a towel, shivering.

 

~

 

Everyone and their aunt was either drowsy or hungover that morning. Not just figuratively, either. Changkyun's aunt plodded towards the training area with a huge yawn splitting her face; a dead woman walking with her hair unkept and a shaking tray with two cups of coffee in her hands. The coach took one of the cups, stifling a yawn of her own.

The volleyball team yawned wider still. Each of them was fighting off a faint trickle of nausea that wouldn't stop coursing through their stomachs. Their regular warm-up took longer than usual. Kihyun got out of breath before they even finished, sucking in the crisp but slowly thickening air in ocean-sized swallows.

All in all, these weren't the conditions in which any of them would want to meet the incoming team from Seoul – which meant that these were exactly the conditions in which the opponents came, marching towards the court in a mass of long limbs and side-glances. They oozed self-confidence from miles away.

Kihyun watched the Sungbook-gu kids with suspicion. They were _tall_ , of course, and rested, and he immediately regretted that he'd put on a pair sneakers with thin rubber soles.

Every centimeter counted when one was on court.

Every millimeter counted when one was Yoo Kihyun.

The Sungbook-gu team strolled closer. The hitters were showing off their skills as they passed a ball between them with unnecessary tricks and frills, joking about how dead this place was – and the people here.

Finally, the strangers stopped. Their captain stepped over the line winding around the court.

“You guys up for a match?” called the captain.

There was a brief silence. Hyunwoo reacted first. Worn as a bear about to hibernate for the winter, he glanced from the group that had gathered by the court to coach Cho. He asked her an unspoken question, eyebrows quirking up. Solemn, the coach gestured with her chin, indicating a subtle “no.” She could see that nobody was at their best today.

Hyunwoo nodded and turned to address the waiting captain.

“We've just finished, but thank you for the offer,” he said.

“You sure? You lot look like you haven't even started yet today.”

“Or ever,” quipped one of the hitters.

Placid to the remarks, Hyunwoo carried on: “We could arrange something for tomorrow, how about that? Does nine o'clock sound good?”

“Dunno what's worse,” murmured someone. “A meek leader or a meek team.”

“They've got both.”

Someone laughed. “Legit. Look at that milksop.”

The team burst out.

It took Kihyun a not-so-bright moment to realize _he_ was the milksop. He puffed up his chest in outrage. Behind him, Gunhee and Seokjin puffed up their chests twice as much, as though attempting to lend the smaller guy some of their breadth. Logically, it only made Kihyun look even tinier, which the opposing team appraised with another wave of snickers and snips.

Kihyun stared them down, unflinching. Did these twats think they were telling him something new? Yeah, he was short. He knew. The team knew. The whole of Korea and every single citizen of every single country in Asia knew that Yoo Kihyun never outgrew his ninth grade school uniform and shoes.

What they didn't know was how quick his size made him, and how low-key he could move amongst his towering teammates.

He sensed the guys' shadows loom behind and beside him, multiplying as the whole team dragged their feet closer. This time, Kihyun didn't feel surrounded by them. Didn't feel overshadowed.

He felt stronger.

Changkyun's pearls of wisdom ran through his head.

_Some people are fueled by fear, but not you. You're the best when you're pissed. When you snap, every serve is your bitch._

Well, sign him the fuck up.

He threw a glance at Hyunwoo, who regarded him very calmly; _too_ calmly even for him. Kihyun turned back.

“We're up for the match. You guys up for losing?” said Kihyun through teeth.

Nobody stopped him. Not even the coach.

“Heard that, Bobby?” asked one of the hitters, the one who'd been passing the ball with his teammates for awhile and now was spinning it on the tip of his finger. “The dude looks like he's ready to tear you a new one.”

Bobby laughed. “He can try, if he reaches it.”

Kihyun didn't say anything. He didn't as much as glare.

Because he was fucking used to this.

He recollected all those times he'd ended up left out for one reason or other. He saw his memories like they were printed in a concertina book he could leaf through and mark those little letdowns one by one; one for each year.

At sixteen he'd learned that he didn't belong with guys like Taemin. At fifteen he'd dropped sports after Yoongi had approached him after a basketball session and taken him aside to tell him that the other guys thought Kihyun wasn't really cut for this. (“It has nothing to do with your height, man, it's just that – you know.”) (Kihyun hadn't known, but he hadn't asked either.) At fourteen he'd discovered that reading Austen meant he couldn't hang out with his boy cousins.

He remembered reading Austen on one sunny afternoon and not knowing what the whole fuss about love was all about, but loving the book anyway. And then he really, really remembered something, and it sounded as clear in his head as Changkyun's pearls of wisdom yesterday and as the birds above and as Hoseok's hushed “You deserve it” uttered in the dark of the cabin.

_There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me._

Kihyun wondered how many fuckboys old Jane had met in her life. Probably as many as him.

Without another word, he turned to his team and nodded at them to assume their positions.

Yeah. This Bobby guy had it coming. Kihyun wasn't about to take shit from someone who was named like Lorenzo Lamas's best friend.

 

~

 

At seventeen, Kihyun learned that the Sungbook-gu kids weren't an opponent to be trifled with.

The Sungbook-gu kids learned the same thing about Kihyun.

The score was tied. The game ground on like no other game Kihyun had ever been a part of, including his unsuccessful flirt with basketball. He ran like a frenzied rat from one side of the court to the other, from the front to the back, from the center to the very edge. There wasn't a single player except for the other libero, an out-of-breath boy called Chanwoo, who wouldn't target Kihyun when they had the opportunity.

Kihyun was winded, his tongue parched, but every drop of sweat that flowed down his face and back felt so well-earned and _good_ that he didn't care. The serves got sharper. The volleyball flew faster. He still didn't care. He lived off the other team's frustration and growing aggression. Mouth parted and dangling in a semi-smile, Kihyun passed the ball to Jooheon. The boy jumped and sent the ball all the way to the middle of the opponents' half of the court.

The Bobby guy jumped even higher and blocked the attack. Spiralling, the ball shot right at Kihyun, only a little too high, a little too swift. Kihyun watched it whizz nearer and nearer – and he leapt up.

It got him right in the tits.

“Good! Fuck it up, Ki!” shouted Changkyun from the sideline as the ball sprung back from Kihyun's chest with an unpleasantly dull thud. It flew off in a perfect trajectory, eclipsing the sun.

The coach stared. The opponents stared. Kihyun's own team stared.

Kihyun wheezed.

The ball went over the net. Two of the Sungbook-gu kids scrambled after it, diving on their stomachs to save the day, but they bumped their heads together and rolled off, the ball plopping between their bodies with several soft bounces.

Someone spun Kihyun around. From the volume of the shrieking in his ear, it sounded like Seokjin. Kihyun stumbled back down with the weirdest happy chuckle. As he ran back to his place, Hoseok reached out to him and the tips of their fingers brushed.

Hyunwoo went to the back to serve. The Sungbook-gu guys gathered far from the net because they already knew that Hyunwoo's serves were low but long. The shortest of the hitters managed to fend the ball off, but didn't send it high enough.

He headed the rebound into the net.

“Funny. I thought the serve was meek,” commented Hyunwoo quietly as he jogged past Kihyun, the team rotating. Kihyun grinned.

They were leading by two points. Two more and they would win.

Gunhee started the next rally, his serve as haphazard as ever. The Sungbook-gu team was already unnerved because of the score, and when they readied themselves for a spike, they put escalating strength into each bounce. Bobby was the last one in the line. Leaping up, he shot the ball downward, hitting it violently with an open palm.

Kihyun dove forward, eyes on the ball, on the ball, on the ball –

– and so when it struck Hoseok in the face, Kihyun saw it coming sooner than Hoseok himself. The sound was sickening. He felt it hurt.

Hoseok stumbled. His own weight brought him back and forth before he regained balance. Stunned, he tried to smile to tell everyone that he was okay. It was a short smile that faded all too soon. Another, strangely stretched smile replaced it. The grimace looked just as out of place as the first one.

The ball rolled away. Nerves numb, Kihyun followed it. But he didn't stop when the ball did. He marched on. And on. He was water rushing from a broken reservoir.

Someone shouted. Kihyun heard the shout, but chose to outrun it. He ducked under the net and started at Bobby. The coach whistled – Gunhee cheered – and Bobby crouched as Kihyun rammed into him.

They crashed to the ground.

There were hands in his face and sand in his hair. Blinded by something black and surging behind his eyes, Kihyun straddled the body beneath him and grabbed it by the jaw. He beat the boy like a goddamn drum.

He heard Changkyun yell “I said anger, not murder!” The coach's whistle pealed shrill in his ears. Hyunwoo called to him louder than ever, but Kihyun just couldn't stop, couldn't think, couldn't –

Hyunwoo grabbed him from behind and pulled him away by the waist. He straightened Kihyun up and tried to pat dust off his jersey, but before he could blink, Kihyun tore from his grip and made a dash for Bobby again. The boy was getting up, supported by Chanwoo and the shortish hitter.

“Oh no, you don't,” murmured Hyunwoo, clutched Kihyun hard, and lifted him off the ground. He gestured a time-out at the coach.

Kihyun didn't get to utter a peep.

A few seconds ticked away. The stretch between him and the court grew wider. Voices got louder. Bobby snorted and some of his teammates joined in.

Kihyun looked down where Hyunwoo's feet trampled the grass. He looked back up, all angles distorted from where he hung over Hyunwoo's shoulder. Every cord in his body craved to thrash and break the hold and walk away with dignity. The contained energy nearly killed him.

Hyunwoo carried him to the restroom. Once they were inside and the door clicked shut behind them, he put Kihyun back down on the floor.

Nobody spoke at first. The room was blurry. Kihyun started to the door, but Hyunwoo took him by the shoulder and sat him down on a bench by the lockers. The wood under his thighs was cold. Too thickly lacquered. It irritated his skin. _Everything_ irritated his skin. A rush of prickly, tingling pain spread over him and covered him in blotches.

He wanted to close his eyes for a moment. Erase the looks everyone had given him. Maybe that way he wouldn't have to imagine how he'd looked when Hyunwoo had hauled him away from the court.

Cautious, Hyunwoo kneeled down in front of him, one knee on the floor. He rested his arm on the other one. Worry rewrote his face so visibly that Kihyun's thoughts ground to a halt.

“Kihyun,” he began, and the worry rewrote his voice as well. “...What was that?”

“I don't know.”

What he _did_ know was that Hyunwoo had spoken way too warily.

It made him question everything.

“How come you don't know?” asked Hyunwoo. He shifted so he was a little closer. The sole of his shoe made a sandy sound on the tiles. “I don't know you like this.”

“I know,” said Kihyun without a grain of colour in his tone.

He sat there empty as a squeezed-out sponge. Drained.

A short silence passed. They stared at each other like two statues.

“I understand that this is new to you – the adrenaline.”

“It wasn't adrenaline.”

“Alright. Anger. Believe me, I'm just as angry as you are.”

“No, you're not.”

“Trust me on this one, Ki. I've been there. I was a rookie once and I made the same mistakes, so listen to me for a bit. Alright?”

Hyunwoo waited. It wasn't alright, but Kihyun muttered it anyway.

“Alright.”

“Okay. Look. You can't chuck the whole match away just because you're upset or provoked.” Hyunwoo paused to clear his throat – or his head. He did this a lot. This I'm-clearing-my-throat-but-I'm-actually-thinking-of-things-to-say thing. “You shouldn't have attacked the guy, no matter how annoying he was being.”

“This isn't about annoying me or provoking me, this is about fouling Hoseok,” retorted Kihyun.

“Yes, it was a foul. Everyone saw it. And the coach was about to deal with it. She would've called foul and we would've gained from this if you hadn't stepped in. We would've had an advantage over them. Now we don't, and we've lost you.”

“Like that matters,” snipped Kihyun, blood humming in his head again. “Didn't you _see_ what he did to Hoseok?”

“I saw it,” said Hyunwoo, a tad more coldly. “I was there too. But I controlled myself.”

“Good for you.”

“No. No, it's not _good for me_. It's hell for me. But it's good for the team. You know. The team you're a part of.”

Kihyun's fading flush came crashing back, flooding his skin with warmth and needles.

It was just like him, wasn't it. Even at his best, he wasn't good enough. He'd yet to be so well in sync with the rest of the guys till today, but it still didn't matter. He'd still botched the game and ended up here.

It stung all the more worse that he'd fancied himself a planner. Someone prudent. Someone who could handle himself. All he had were his voice and his smarts.

He guessed he should cross that one out.

As if reading his mind, Hyunwoo resumed his speech. He talked to Kihyun gently. The thing was, it just cut deeper.

“This isn't the choir,” said Hyunwoo. “You can't play solo here. You can't simply decide things on your own and risk the whole match for the rest of us.”

Bitterness rose up Kihyun's throat.

“Singing a solo isn't playing solo! I'm used to teamwork! Or do you think that the rest of the choir just stands behind me and smiles at the audience? Do you think that's how it works?”

“No,” said Hyunwoo quickly.

“Then don't talk about it like you know. Because you don't. Do you think singing isn't hard work? That I just woke up one day and started collecting trophies because it was so easy? Do you know how many weeks it takes us to harmonize right when we rehearse a new song? Just one song?” countered Kihyun. “I'd like to see you try. I'd really like to see you all give it a shot instead of mocking me.”

“I wasn't. I wasn't mocking you. Why would any of us mock you?” Hyunwoo reeled back the slightest, moving his upper body to peer at Kihyun.

“Because I don't belong here.”

Hyunwoo opened his mouth, but he didn't respond right away.

“What?”

“You said it yourself.”

“Kihyun, I didn't say that. I didn't say that and I didn't _mean_ to say that.”

“You said I play solo. But I don't. All I did was defend Hoseok while the lot of you did nothing. How is that playing solo? I'm shit at sports, but I don't go out of my way to ruin things for you! I listen to you and – and Hoseok – and everyone else who gives me the smallest advice so I can be at least a little bit useful. I'm trying. I'm really trying – like I've never had to try for anything else,” confessed Kihyun. “Do you know what it's like to be _me_ amongst you guys?”

As soon as he said it, he wanted to catch all those words and swallow them. Bury them back. He was already physically weak; he didn't have to unearth the rest too.

The echo of his voice dripped off the tiled walls.

Hyunwoo studied him with an expression that was somewhere between blank and puzzled, but more than anything it was just genuine. He propped himself up and sat down beside Kihyun with a small “Budge up.” Lips sealed, Kihyun slid to the side to make some room, the wooden bench yet again cold under him.

“What do you mean, to be you amongst us?” asked Hyunwoo. “To be a rookie?”

“No. A runt.”

Hyunwoo stifled a noise. It reminded Kihyun of a snort.

“A runt?” repeated Hyunwoo.

“Yeah. And a tiny tosser.”

“You know your height is perfectly average, right? I measured you myself.”

“Well, I'm still a runt and a milksop, apparently.”

“You're none of those,” said Hyunwoo softly.

“So you manhandled me like a bag of groceries because I'm so big and strong. My bad.”

“I wouldn't have to do it in the first place if you weren't so strong. I tried to pull you away from the guy, but you wouldn't budge. So I...” Hyunwoo made a small gesture. Then he put his hands in his lap. “So I carried you.” He stared at his hands. “I'm sorry about that.”

“You better be.”

“I am. I had no idea that you – that you felt this way.”

“I do. Sometimes.” Kihyun stretched his legs. “Sometimes it's all I can think about.”

“Oh,” said Hyunwoo.

“Yeah.”

“That's... that's not good. I should've known. I should've noticed that there was something wrong.”

“It's okay, captain. You have the cup to worry about.”

“I have my teammates to worry about first and foremost.”

“Everyone on this team is totally oblivious to everything anyway. I already got used to it.”

Unsure as to what to say to that, Hyunwoo studied Kihyun curiously: the stormy brow, the knobby knees. The sloped shoulders.

“You're not even that short, though.” He stumbled awkwardly. “What I mean is, I never even thought of you in that way. Like you're small or something. I was more concerned about you being clumsy –” (Kihyun gave a soft scoff.) “– but lately you've gotten pretty agile. You're good at this, whether you see it or not.”

Grazing the tip of his shoe on the floor, Kihyun stayed silent. He felt himself deflate.

What was worst about this was that Kihyun knew Hyunwoo well enough to know he meant the praise. He wasn't the type of guy to tell white lies.

His wrath trickled away drop by drop. Kihyun fished for something to say or do and failed. When he wasn't furious anymore, he finally noticed the mortification that had tied is tongue.

“You're saving our asses,” continued Hyunwoo when Kihyun didn't react. “I wouldn't forget that even if you were the worst player I've ever had to deal with. But you're not. You've learned things that I didn't even consider to teach you. You're getting better by the day, I can see it.”

Kihyun didn't react to this either.

Inhaling, Hyunwoo leaned forward. He peered at Kihyun's face from below.

“I didn't mean to make you feel excluded. Ever. I've been harder on you than the rest of the guys because you're still learning, not because you're bad at this. If anything, it's the exact opposite. You're so close to being great, and you've gotten there in such a short time, that we sometimes expect you to be on our level.”

“We?” asked Kihyun weakly.

“Hoseok and me. We talk about you all the time and he agrees with me on this – you learn fast. Faster than a lot of us when he first started. I know it took me at least two months to even get the hang of the rules,” said Hyunwoo, unsmiling, because it wasn't really self-irony. He was as genuine as always. “You're different, though. You adapt to everything I throw at you. Sometimes I drill you too much, but it's because I know you can take it.”

The door opened.

“Kinky,” singsonged Gunhee, strolling inside with a teasing lilt in his tone. He had scraped palms and knees and his face looked sun-worn. “I don't know what kind of dad talk the two of you are having here and I don't even _want_ to know, so I won't ask. But we kind of have a match to play...?”

“Oh. Right.” Awkward again, Hyunwoo got up, arms hanging limply at his sides. “I guess the coach won't let Kihyun finish the game, will she?”

“Nope,” said Gunhee. “But Hoseok's ready to continue, so that's good news.”

Kihyun got up. His chest gave a squeeze. “He what?”

Hyunwoo looked like he was ready to sit him back down. He kept his distance, though, and pointed a warning finger at Kihyun instead.

“Don't.”

“But.”

“It won't help us if you run back and cause a scene, will it?”

It wouldn't. Kihyun grumbled.

Hyunwoo pointed his finger again.

“I'll just take a shower and wait for you guys,” grudged Kihyun.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Hyunwoo studied him for awhile, as if waiting whether Kihyun would attempt to slip past him, and then he set off towards Gunhee. When he was at the door, he paused and turned around. “And for the record... Nobody here is mocking you for being a singer. I'm sorry about the choir analogy, though. I didn't think it through.”

Gunhee whirled around at that. He gaped at Hyunwoo. “Why would we mock him for being a singer?”

Hyunwoo shrugged.

“We've seen you win at least half a dozen competitions,” said Gunhee, locking eyes with Kihyun. “Why would we make fun of you? You never fucked up or anything. At least I don't think you did? I'm sort of tone-deaf.”

“We're all sort of tone-deaf,” supplied Hyunwoo.

“Yeah, but regardless.”

“What do you mean – you've seen me win?” interrupted Kihyun.

“We've been to your competitions,” said Gunhee as if that was the most obvious thing on earth.

“But... why?”

“Because we're from the same school,” said Gunhee, shrugging. “You choir kids cheer on us when the championship rolls round, so we go and cheer on you.”

“I see,” said Kihyun. It was all he could force out.

He truly was better at dealing with anger than mortification.

“Okay, let's go, let's go,” urged Gunhee, nudging Hyunwoo's arm. “Take care, Ki.”

“Try to win,” blurted Kihyun.

“Will do.”

The door softly thudded shut. Kihyun gazed at it and then walked towards the bench. He sat down.

He sat there for a long time.


	9. Glass House People

The Sungbook-gu kids won in the end. Kihyun still sat in the locker room part of the restroom when his eerily quiet teammates trailed inside one by one to freshen up and change. His gaze shot up at the first creak of the doorknob and met with Hyunwoo's serious expression. He shrank in his seat.

Something told him he better not ask about the final score.

Water murmured. The guys came and went, some of them stopping by the bench to drop their it's okays and cheer ups. Changkyun peeked inside once the entire team had left, sighed like a life-trodden mountain hermit, and stuffed an ice pack in Kihyun's hands. Kihyun thanked him and squeezed the ice pack, but didn't really do anything with it. He didn't know why he would need it in the first place. He was fine.

His lip throbbed, but he was fine.

The only one who didn't come by was Hoseok. Kihyun waited around in case he would show up, legs stretched and body slumped and tensed up at the same time, but Hoseok was nowhere to be seen.

Time turned slower. Kihyun eventually got up and, undressing, he stole into the bathroom.

His infamous rubber slippers squeaked on the wet tiles. He shuffled under one of the showerheads and let warm water wash over him. He stood on his tippy-toes to get the stream to massage his scalp just the way he liked it, straining and turning to find the right position. Normally it would've taken his tension away and poured it down the drain, casting it up like the sea casts up shells and carcasses.

Nothing quite helped him with that today. All that straining and reaching under the showerhead just made him feel like he'd pulled a muscle.

Exhaling through his nose, he sank back down on his heels, his feet flat on the floor. He filled his palms with shampoo, turned away from the wall, and closed his eyes. He sudsed his hair thoroughly, enjoying how busy his mind became with the simple task instead of agonizing over the match.

His fingers did what the stream didn't and Kihyun eventually relaxed, pushing small circles all across his scalp. He kept at it even as he rinsed his hair until the door to the showers creaked.

Kihyun opened his eyes and locked them with Hoseok.

The first thing he noticed was the swell that had turned Hoseok's cheek a ripe colour and made his already big nose look bigger. Then he noticed that Hoseok was naked.

Hoseok stood there with his hand on the handle. His other hand clutched a towel. The stark white fabric sort of covered his crotch, but sort of not.

They didn't say hi. Hoseok hesitated at the door and then walked into the showers. The sound of water in the vast room was as hollow as Kihyun's chest.

As Hoseok approached him and took the shower beside him, Kihyun turned around so they were both facing the tiles. Hoseok turned the water on, but didn't step under the stream right away. Instead he glanced to the side.

Kihyun glanced at Hoseok at the same time.

“We lost the game,” Kihyun heard himself say.

“Yep,” replied Hoseok.

His eyes fell to Kihyun's split lip. At the same moment, he reached up. He brought both hands almost to Kihyun's face.

Kihyun backed off as though the water turned one hundred degrees.

“Don't. Don't touch me.” His tongue was clammy in his mouth. He thought of Hyunwoo carrying him and the Sungbook-gu guys watching. “I don't want to be touched right now.”

Hoseok didn't say anything. His hands fell away. He broke eye contact with Kihyun and ducked under the showerhead. He let his eyelids close.

Water was the only sound in the bathroom as they washed up and got dressed.

They walked out of the restroom together, the sun immediately beating down on their skin. The sky was yellow when Kihyun looked up. He shielded his brow, heat spreading over his exposed collarbones.

They'd crossed a good half of the campsite when a voice called to Kihyun.

“Sorry – Kihyun? Is that your name?”

He stiffened and looked back. Two of the Sungbook-gu kids trudged towards him: the libero and the short hitter.

“Yeah,” said Kihyun, stopping.

“We wanted to talk to you,” said the hitter.

As the pair approached Kihyun, his defenses spiked up. The sun behind his back gave him a sense of advantage because the two boys squinted awkwardly as they got closer. Advantage didn't mean safety, though. He eyed the pair with more suspicion than curiosity. Hoseok must've felt the same. Before Kihyun knew it, Hoseok was back by his side, trying his best not to look fluffy.

“Talk about what?” asked Kihyun. His face was tight and so was his tone.

The boys stopped a few feet away. They shared a look.

“We're sorry about Bobby,” said the hitter.

“Come again?”

“He's a good player, but he can be...”

“An ass,” piped the libero.

“Kind of,” said the short hitter. He had a sweet dark mole under his eye. “He likes to intimidate our opponents.”

“And us, sometimes,” murmured the libero – Chanwoo, if Kihyun remembered correctly.

“The point is,” the hitter carried on, “we wanted to challenge you guys, not foul you. We wanted to win in a fair game.”

“Who said you would've won?” queried Hoseok.

The hitter gave a shy smile – shy, but not insecure.

“One can hope. And we _did_ win, but it's kind of an empty victory since your team was short of the libero.”

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Hoseok crossed his arms. He looked thicker when he did that.

“Bobby's,” uttered Chanwoo under his breath.

“Actually, it's on all of us. We should've told him to knock it off.” The hitter shrugged apologetically. “It was just a little too good to be true to see the last year's winner so out of shape. We got carried away and...”

“We got competitive,” supplied Chanwoo. “Even Jinhwan.”

“Well,” said the hitter, “I'm not proud of it, but it's true. You crushed us pretty bad the last time we met.”

“And then you played pretty well even with a new libero, so we sorta... we sorta let Bobby do his thing,” finished Chanwoo. He glanced at Kihyun. He was young and wide-eyed and something about his expression could've convinced Kihyun to be flattered. “It was cool, the thing you did. The thing with your chest.”

As Kihyun stood there, it became clearer and clearer to him that he knew how to handle ridicule, but not how to handle respect.

He settled for a dry “Thanks.”

Chanwoo beamed. “No problem.” He extended his arm.

Kihyun had half a mind to retreat because he still wasn't sure what to expect from the enemy, but the enemy was nothing but a smiling boy up close. Pulling his shoulders back, Kihyun took Chanwoo's hand and shook it. He could be the bigger person figuratively when he wasn't big literally, he reminded himself sourly.

Jinhwan was next, his grip looser around Kihyun's hand although he looked just as genuine as Chanwoo.

“It was a good game,” said Jinhwan. “See you at the competition.”

“Right.”

Kihyun stole a secret glance at Hoseok to see what he thought of the exchange. Hoseok stood close by, his presence comforting. His expression was another story. He was gaping down at where Kihyun's hand rested in Jinhwan's. His arms hung at his sides, no longer crossed over his pecs. His fists were open, grasping for something. Opening and closing. Like two white magnolia blossoms, but bruised.

Kihyun let go. The Sungbook-gu guys ran off after one more “Sorry, mate,” Chanwoo making a brief turn to wave at Kihyun. Then he turned back around and skipped ahead.

Perhaps he was being grim, but Kihyun wasn't so quick to think of the boys in a positive light. One apology, as nice and vindicating as it was, didn't suddenly change the fact that the Sungbook-gu team had insulted and fouled them. Neither did it slip past Kihyun that only two of the seven players bothered to say sorry. His good opinion once lost wasn't lost forever because he was no Fitzwilliam Darcy; it just took more to get it back than one handshake.

Well, whatever.

Shaky peace was better than bad blood, that was for sure.

Eyes on the yellowing grass, Kihyun set off. Hoseok joined him a step or two later. The rest of the way to the cabin passed as quietly as the first half.

 

~

 

Kihyun had underestimated the level of introversion Hoseok could fall into.

Out in the open it had been different. Crossing the campsite, people had streamed past, a flock of birds shrieked through low-hanging, stringy clouds, and even grass whispered to fill in the blanks. Kihyun had heard laughter from afar, and the river too if he strained really hard, and he'd just generally been surrounded by... sounds.

There were no sounds inside the cabin. None, save for the shuffling of Hoseok's feet over the wooden floor as he moved out of Kihyun's way in abundant half-circles.

They were like glass house people, each in his separate construction of glass and steel and silence.

It wasn't like Hoseok was never silent. He was. He could be pretty out of reach when he focused on something or when he was eating (or when he focused on eating). He was no Minhyuk who murmured even in his sleep. So it was normal, really, that Hoseok wouldn't say a word and wouldn't look at Kihyun and wouldn't come near him. It was cool.

Kihyun sat on the bed, paralyzed by how _not_ normal and _not_ cool it was. His mouth curled into a tiny a wave. This was way too much to happen in one day.

He didn't even want to think that Hoseok might be offended, except he knew very well that his own pride would bleed black blood if someone half his size had to fight his battles for him.

His tongue tingled to speak.

His feet twitched to stand up and cross the room.

The mattress groaned under him and Hoseok looked over to check the noise. They caught each other staring. Breathing through his nose, Hoseok broke the contact. He glanced down at his hands. At his palms. Breathing through his nose again, he turned his back to Kihyun and walked towards the pile of luggage in the corner of the cabin. Crouching, he turned the contents of his large rucksack inside out until he pulled out a peach-coloured bottle. Then he took a plastic bottle with tap water in it from Minhyuk's bedside table and he lumbered out of the cabin.

Frowning, Kihyun followed him. He found Hoseok sitting on the stairs, the bigger bottle uncapped and pressed tight between his thighs as he fumbled with the smaller bottle. Hoseok shook it and poured a handful of oil and sea salt into his palm.

At a time like this, Hoseok was exfoliating his hands.

Kihyun dropped down beside him, curious although strangely calmed by how mundane what Hoseok was doing was. He watched Hoseok fumble with the bottle some more and then he took it from him, laid it on the steps, and leaned over. He began to scrub Hoseok's hands. He rubbed the salt grains into Hoseok's palms with the tips of his thumbs, grazing the calluses and little branched-out lines.

He felt Hoseok's gaze, but it didn't bother him. It would've bothered him if Hoseok insisted on not looking.

Slowly, so he wouldn't startle him, Kihyun peeked up.

Okay, he told himself as he studied Hoseok's face. He could safely say that Hoseok wasn't mad. Hoseok looked _hurt_ when mad. This wasn't it.

This – was close, but not quite there. Hoseok was one border away from being hurt. Pre-hurt.

Kihyun remained wordless and soundless to mirror Hoseok. Maybe it wasn't his place to split the silence. Scooting closer to Hoseok, he massaged the salt and oil into his hands for him, feeling his skin soften. His own hands tingled because of the sea salt scrubbing them.

When he was done, Kihyun rinsed his hands and then let some water into Hoseok's cupped palms. He kept pouring more until the last silver crystal of salt either dissolved or washed away.

Clumsy, Hoseok wiped into his shorts.

Kihyun mirrored him again.

They looked at each other.

His stomach was hollow. His throat too. This truly had to be the worst day ever since he'd joined the team. Hoseok still didn't speak. Instead he glanced at Kihyun's mouth and almost touched it at the same time. He stopped himself shy of brushing Kihyun's split lip.

“What?” blurted Kihyun quietly. He felt like a glass house person all anew.

“It's just...” said Hoseok, grimacing, and brought his hands back to his lap. “Sorry. They're still rough.”

“What is?” asked Kihyun.

Hoseok waved awkwardly. Kihyun followed the small flit of his fingers with his eyes.

“These,” said Hoseok although the gesture was telling enough.

Right then, Kihyun would bring him the blue of the sky. Suddenly it all clicked.

“Hyung, that's not why I asked you not to touch me.”

“Oh.” Hoseok blanched. Sundust sat on the slopes and lines in his face. It shimmered on his shoulders. “But...”

“I got manhandled enough for one day,” Kihyun cut in.

“Oh,” repeated Hoseok. He fretted in his seat, suddenly all hands and all body and way too many words to say at once. “But I wouldn't –”

Kihyun leaned in, cutting him off for the second time.

“I know,” he murmured. He put his chin up, and if Hoseok hadn't reeled back, it would be resting in his hand now. “It's fine.”

As he watched Hoseok's expression unfold into the same stricken mask as on the court, it dawned on Kihyun that he wouldn't mind getting into another fist fight just to erase it.

He wondered how it worked – this utter, bone-deep need to protect someone so huge. Someone who was a man in every sense of the word and didn't have to care for anyone's protection. Someone who'd been with men likely as built as Hoseok himself and better suited to keep his smiles in place.

But according to Hyunwoo, Kihyun was averagely sized, so he couldn't be that bad for that role. Could he?

Finally, Hoseok seemed to decipher that he was allowed in. He put his hand back up, his knuckles lightly supporting Kihyun's chin. He covered the wound on Kihyun's lower lip with the pad of his thumb. The touch was barely there.

“You didn't have to do that,” whispered Hoseok.

“Well, but I did. What are you gonna do.” Kihyun attempted a smile.

Hoseok sighed. “Wonder about what goes on in that head of yours.”

“A lot,” said Kihyun honestly.

It wouldn't be far from truth to say that the thoughts swimming in his head rivalled the number of freckles and moles on his face, those that had always been there as well as those that had only recently appeared under the touch of the sun. The loudest of these thoughts coursed through him all shrill and heartbeat-y, telling him to pull back. There must've been a crystal of salt stuck to Hoseok's finger because it started to eat through the open flesh of his lip. Each brush burned.

Something else soon took over the sensation. A pained spring shot through the soft mess of Kihyun's mind.

Did Hoseok still hurt?

“Does it still –” began Kihyun, but the sound of someone running towards them broke the flow of his thoughts.

He whipped around. Minhyuk was jogging up to them with Hyunwoo in tow.

“What the fuck!” shrieked Minhyuk from afar. He was holding two ice cream cones, one in each hand. Breeze played with his bangs, which were pushed back by a bandana. It was an interesting sight to behold – him rushing and the scoops of ice cream wobbling.

A sight Kihyun wouldn't mind missing.

Instead he missed the salty sting on his lip as Hoseok backed off and sat at the far edge of the stairs.

Meanwhile, Minhyuk rushed forward.

“Are you telling me,” he yelled and Kihyun thought, oh no, I'm going to get it, “that you fought with your gremlin little fists,” Minhyuk yelled louder despite getting closer, “ _and I wasn't there_!”

Kihyun's face fell.

Leave it to Minhyuk to have his priorities straight.

Kihyun took a pause to muse whether it was dramatic to put out an application for a new best friend, preferably one who wouldn't dare him to run butt ass naked in public and who wasn't, in general, a python dressed in human skin.

A sheen of sweat making his tee cling to his torso, Minhyuk stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He bent over to breathe and straightened back up a few strained wheezes later. He shoved the ice cream cones at Kihyun and Hoseok. (They took the ice cream complacently, Hoseok smiling his small Hoseok smile that was honest even though it wasn't quite there.)

“It wasn't a proper fight,” said Kihyun. He gave a reluctant lick, careful not to move his mouth too much. The ice cream had half melted and it wasn't as cold as he would've liked in this swelter, but it was good enough and it cooled the searing spot on his lip. “Where have you been, anyway?”

“At the shooting range,” replied Minhyuk.

Kihyun stilled with his tongue out.

The archers trained for the championship all the way down by the town, where the orchards ended and the suburbs began.

“Did you run all the way back here?”

“What do you think? I sure as fuck didn't teleport.”

Kihyun mentally shredded the New Best Friend application paper.

Hyunwoo finally caught up with Minhyuk. He was significantly slower, but just as sweaty. He assessed Hoseok from a distance and then squatted beside Kihyun.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” said Kihyun. He stopped nibbling at the ice cream because it was giving him ideas. “On both accounts.”

Knowing that Hoseok wasn't upset with him had put him at ease. And the rest – the rest he just had to deal with, be it the bruised lip or self-confidence. He'd been short – _average –_ his whole life. He couldn't change that. Even though he carried himself as someone who had no idea he was a fern amongst pines, Kihyun was nowhere near so delusional or cocky. What he was, was prideful.

That famed pride kept him going, but he had something better to stay afloat now. Now he knew that other people were proud of him in ways he could never be proud of himself.

It was sort of amusing. Kihyun had always assumed that others saw him even smaller than he saw himself in the mirror every day, and that included his friends and family. It included Hyunwoo and Hoseok and even Minhyuk.

Hyunwoo gave him a squinty smile, his right eye closing slightly more than the left.

“You should go back with us. Take your mind off things,” he offered. “Get some fresh air.”

“Or get shot,” supplied Minhyuk, still huffing.

Kihyun reconsidered printing the New Best Friend application again. Maybe Hoseok would be up for the spot.

Speaking of which.

He glanced over his shoulder to see what Hoseok thought of the idea. Hoseok had already chowed down both of the scoops and was crunching away at the cone. Startled at the sudden attention, he chewed and swallowed a mouthful, ears moving. He shrugged at Kihyun.

Kihyun shrugged back at him and then at Hyunwoo.

“Why not.” At least he wouldn't have to meet the Sungbook-gu Satans for the rest of the day.

“At least you won't have to meet the Sungbook-gu Satans for the rest of the day,” said Minhyuk sagely.

Alright, Kihyun told himself. No new best friends for him.

They set off, but not sooner than Kihyun had shared the rest of his ice cream with Hoseok.

 

~

 

Jooheon and Minhyuk really had spent too much time together, otherwise Kihyun couldn't explain how come they shared a single brain cell. He watched as Jooheon ran from the direction of the town to their small group with two popsicles and an ear-splitting whine.

They were midway between the camp and the shooting range, dust and pollen hazing their view. The smell of apple blossoms sat overpowering and sweet in Kihyun's nostrils. Jooheon reached them and was about to whine some more, but when he noticed that Minhyuk was there, he quietened down. He thrust the popsicles at Kihyun and Hoseok and joined them without another word, walking on the opposite side of the road than Minhyuk.

The maneuver didn't escape Minhyuk, though he did something very un-Minhyuk-like and left it without a remark.

Unwrapping the popsicle with a thanks, Kihyun shuffled towards Minhyuk, shouldering him away from the rest of the group.

“All those apples,” Kihyun murmured his way, making sure that nobody heard, “and you're still having troubles in paradise.”

“Shut it,” said Minhyuk in a low hiss. Then, again in a very un-Minhyuk-like fashion, he whispered: “I'm scared as fuck, man. He's been like this since yesterday.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Did I do something gross at the party? Did I say something to him when I was wasted?”

“How would I know?” countered Kihyun, watching his voice. He discreetly stepped even further to the left and almost pushed Minhyuk into the grassy plane of weeds and poppies that wound beside the dirt path. “He could be just tired and hungover.”

“I didn't know that being hungover makes you allergic to people.”

“It makes you allergic to _loud_ people.”

Kihyun readied himself for a comeback that never came. Minhyuk shoved his hands to his pockets, kicked a pebble out of his path, and swaggered on.

 

~

 

They made it to the spot when a good half of the archers had finished with the training and started to trail off. The sun sunk lower on the horizon, but it was still golden and nowhere near rosy, the swelter at its peak.

Kihyun had made it his mission to hang at Jooheon's side like an unshakeable little leech. He would make the boy spill, or die trying.

There were scattered apple trees at the edge of the shooting range, probably not planted but sprouting there because nature was as unshakeable as Kihyun when he put his mind to something. He was about to tug Jooheon aside and ask what was wrong.

Except Jooheon beat him to it.

He discreetly dragged Kihyun to the side, uttering a breathy “Hyung, who is it?”

“Who's what?” said Kihyun as he stumbled along.

“You-know-who.”

Kihyun gave him a gape worthy of a fish fresh out of water.

“Voldemort?”

“No, you walnut,” huffed Jooheon. “The you-know-who Minhyuk wants to ask out.”

Kihyun stopped walking.

“Are you serious? You don't know?”

“I wouldn't be asking if I knew,” snipped Jooheon. “I thought it might be you because he talks about you all the time.”

“Well, you're right about one thing. He talks about that person all the time.”

“But that's – that's you,” said Jooheon in a small voice. He looked around to see whether they still had privacy. To Kihyun it seemed more like he was looking _away_. A moment later, Jooheon added: “He doesn't talk about anyone else.”

“To you.”

Jooheon inhaled. “Oh. I get it.”

“You don't get it, actually,” said Kihyun, feeling frustration crush his lungs.

He didn't have the heart to tell Jooheon that he was as hopeless and thick-headed as the rest of the team. A part of him wanted to coo at Jooheon for being so oblivious. The bigger part of Kihyun wanted to smack some sense into him. He reigned his temper in.

“If Minhyuk doesn't talk about them to you, who do you think _is_ that person?” asked Kihyun, his patience dripping like murky water in a water clock.

“Beats me,” said Jooheon, sulking.

“I will beat you for real if you don't use this.” Kihyun tapped at Jooheon's forehead.

“Hyung,” whined Jooheon, wrestling his hand away, but halfway through it he froze in place. “Wait.”

“I'm waiting,” said Kihyun dryly, wrist locked in Jooheon's grip.

“You don't mean...”

“Carry on,” he prompted him.

“Hoseok?”

Kihyun flicked him again. “No, you assbutt! It's you! He's been basically eating your ass from the day he met you! I swear everyone on this team is as blind as a bat! And _I'm_ the short-sighted one!”

“Shhh!” spat Jooheon and hauled Kihyun with him. He grabbed Kihyun's face. “Hyung, are you serious?”

“As serious as Kant and death and taxes and –”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I get it,” said Jooheon quickly to shut him up.

Astonished, he kept clutching Kihyun's face and searching in it.

Kihyun couldn't quite resist taking a jab at him. “Are you sure you get it now?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. He's not eating your ass, he's eating _my_ ass. I mean – not yet – I mean –” Jooheon burned and Kihyun pressed his lips together so he wouldn't burst out.

“Attaboy,” he whispered instead, holding in a particularly potent snort.

“Well,” said Jooheon and let his hands fall away, “well, fuck.”

“Not yet,” grinned Kihyun.

Jooheon looked like he had a retort on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it. The heart-shaped curve of his upper lip stretched thin as he tried not to smile, but it was too late. His dimples were already there.

“You're not playing me, are you?”

“No,” said Kihyun gently.

“And he's not playing me, is he?”

“Hell, no.”

“Hell, yeah.”

 _Now_ Kihyun snorted, Jooheon joining him.

“You know,” said Jooheon, chuckling, “I really thought it was you or Hoseok for a moment there.”

“But why Hoseok?”

“Dunno. It made sense that Minhyuk wouldn't make a move on him because – well.”

“Because of what?”

“Because, you know,” said Jooheon.

Kihyun stopped snickering, though a shadow of a smile still shaped his mouth.

“Are we going to repeat this whole conversation?” he asked playfully. “I don't know, dummy, that's why I'm asking.”

“Because Hoseok is into –”

“Hey, everything alright?”

Hoseok appeared behind Jooheon, eyebrows sloping up shyly as he slowly approached them.

Everything inside Kihyun jumped and clicked into place. “Yeah.” He smiled. “We're coming.”

He put an arm on Jooheon's shoulder and led him to the others. Hoseok went a little ahead of them, safely out of earshot, but Jooheon didn't go back to what they'd talked about.

They joined Hyunwoo and Minhyuk at the side of the shooting range. Together they climbed on one of the apple trees that stood there so they would stay out of the archers' way and had the best view. Jooheon held his hand out for Kihyun to help him up.

Perched like larks, they sat on the sturdy branches, swaying their legs. They searched for Hyungwon in the line of shooters who loitered not too far away as they waited their turn. Hyungwon noticed them when Jooheon called out to him, and he waved one slim limb to acknowledge them. He looked handsome, strapped in his gear and standing at his full height. It didn't always come across – how graceful he was – when he slumped and lounged around without a dash of life in his body.

Just as Kihyun finished the thought, Hyungwon lowered his arms, the bow and the readied arrow pointing to the ground.

“Son Hyunwoo!” he called, voice drawn-out and charged with something like laughter and something like... not. He gestured to the target in front of him. “This is what you did to my heart!”

Then, without another word, he put the bow back up, aimed, and released the arrow.

It sank right in the bullseye.

Hyungwon looked their way as his teammates began to hoot and whistle, god knows whether at him or at Hyunwoo.

“And this is what I'm going to do to yours!”

He took another arrow and fired it at the target. He hit the bullseye again.

Several things happened at once. The archers shrieked louder, this time calling out Hyunwoo's name. Their coach, a squat oldish man, scuttled towards Hyungwon and gave him one light smack on the back of the head. Hyungwon ducked and, smiling, hid his whole face as the coach chased him around. And everyone who sat in the tree turned to stare at Hyunwoo.

Owlish, Hyunwoo observed Hyungwon like he was an actor in a play who'd just revealed the plot-twist of the century. He slowly tore away and went over everybody perched beside him; Hoseok who'd climbed the highest, Minhyuk nestled in the tree fork, Jooheon who sat right underneath, and finally he rested his gaze on Kihyun. He waited, his brow crinkling. The way he lightly leaned forward said he'd figured that Kihyun out of them all could grasp the situation the best.

“Don't look at me,” said Kihyun, and he would've smiled at how lost in the sauce Hyunwoo was had he not felt a strong sense of déjà vu. There truly wasn't a single person in this team who could put two and two together, was there? “Answer him!”

Hyunwoo didn't seem convinced. “Did he – did he mean it, though?”

The sense of déjà vu sprouted in Kihyun even stronger. Hyungwon was the wallflowerest wallflower he had ever encountered. If he wasn't for real, he wouldn't have done this, that much Kihyun knew. Who in their right mind would chance being ridiculed and refused in public for the sake of a practical joke?

Well, some people, definitely. Hyungwon just wasn't one of them.

So that was exactly what Kihyun told Hyunwoo before he broke into an exasperated smile.

His trademark eye squint on, Hyunwoo smiled back. It took him a few seconds to decide what to do next. He appeared to weigh his options while he watched the archers pull at Hyungwon from all sides as though he was a paper doll, and then he jumped off the branch and began to walk towards the crowd.

Kihyun grinned, and the grin was so wide and contagious that he needed to share it with the others.

But once he met Minhyuk's eyes, all serious but sparkling, Kihyun's face fell. It suddenly sank in. _He_ was supposed to do this.

His stomach was gutted. Gutted and gaping open.

Fuck. He was going to run naked.


	10. Starstruck

Everything was black.

The ground underneath his feet had gone cold since the sun had dripped down the apple orchards and rolling landscape to the west. When Kihyun sat down on the riverbank and dipped his bare toes in the water, he shivered. He was inebriated. Piss-drunk would have been a more fitting description, but Kihyun liked to imagine that, for as long as he could form semi-coherent sentences, he was as sober as a judge.

Though truth be told, he had no idea how many judges regularly sat in the dark by random rivers in nothing but a pair of underwear, with their feet immersed.

Loud shrieks and laughter sliced through the night, rushing over the stream in shattered sounds and shards of words – _come on in – fuck, it's cold – don't drop the booze_! Every so often, songs of nocturnal birds weaved through the fragments of human voices, startled by how lively the night had become.

It wasn't that late. Midnight, maybe. Not that late, but late enough that the coaches wouldn't come by their abandoned cabins anymore, at least until morning. Their usual group (plus Hyungwon) had crept far enough from the campsite to be completely carefree tonight. There was nobody to catch them shit-faced and skinny dipping in the starlight.

The sky was moonless, and so was the river. Nothing broke through the black, solid flow of the water. No light. Sometimes a curl of foam slithered and shimmered pale over a rock that lay in its way. Sometimes a naked body glistened above the surface, jumping up and submerging right away, jumping up and submerging.

Kihyun watched his surroundings with vacant eyes. It was as though he had a whole other pair of eyes set somewhere deeper, darker inside his head. Somewhere tucked in the very back where his mind oozed. Everything was foreign to him that night. His friends. The scenery. The stars.

A constant flood of anxiety sent spasms through his systems, starting where his heart slept in a slowed-down rhythm and ending in the tips of his shaking fingers. He wondered if he reacted this strongly to the cool river tugging at his feet, to the alcohol, or just his general sense of defeat. Sighing and stripping himself down of the last piece of clothing he wore, Kihyun plopped into the water fully. Sand immediately got between his butt cheeks.

He better scrub himself good before tomorrow came and he had to fulfill his promise to Minhyuk. He closed his eyes in embarrassment. He hadn't even gone through with the penalty yet, but the humiliation that was to come had already settled in and was eating away at his throat. It was stuck there by his vocal cords, tangible, a small bird trapped inside that fluttered its little wings and scraped its feathers on the raw flesh and made Kihyun want to throw up.

He shook harder.

It was absurd, in a way, that the punishment for the lost bet would affect him so much. Just then and there, he was literally sitting in the river's weed-clogged shallows, naked from head to toe, and he didn't care. He didn't care – because the sky and river were the colour of the purest ink and everyone else was in the nude too, and Kihyun wasn't the only skinny loser who got singled out to run around like a freak.

Shortly rubbing the bridge of his nose where he still sensed an imprint of his glasses, Kihyun tried to tell himself to try to be more like Minhyuk.

Minhyuk was doing a lot of naked running today and didn't seem to mind it one bit. He'd taken it upon himself to herd the whole team into the water and engage everyone in a splashing war. Another thing he seemed adamant about was making them all tipsy to the point of feeling afloat, but not tipsy enough to drown.

He wasn't all that successful because Kihyun wished nothing more than to drown.

Bile in his throat, Kihyun turned away from the happy, smiles-in-the-night filled sight before him. He grasped around for a bottle of soju, or something, anything. Grass and soil stuck to his skin.

He came across something smooth, too smooth to be glass, and he knew that he'd just grabbed Hoseok by the ankle before the boy let his presence be known. Naked too, and not as pallid as usual when shadows hugged him, Hoseok leaned forward. He sat on the shore above Kihyun, sucking on a bottle that he gently pulled out of his mouth and offered to the younger boy when he saw him searching for booze.

Kihyun didn't take a sip. He took the whole bottle and downed what was left in it, the need to heave strengthening. The bird in his throat shrieked to be let out.

He still had some sense left and he put the empty bottle down on the bank, careful not to break it. Then he yanked at Hoseok's leg.

Soundless, Hoseok slid down into the water after him.

“Did it get worse?” murmured Hoseok so nobody would hear. He didn't have to bother. The river and the storm of jokes and splashes nearby would have drowned out his question no matter what. His chest and shoulders looked like they would be warm under a pair of hands.

“A little,” admitted Kihyun.

The alcohol had worked for a minute, until it had turned him into a maudlin drunk and he started to feel sorry for himself. Ashamed of himself. Of the way he looked when undressed, in full light. His team had seen him – all of him – but there were others to whom the sight of Kihyun's underweight, stunted body with all its awkward angles and peeking bones was going to be the richest joke.

He looked over to where Hyunwoo was balancing on Hyungwon's shoulders, the paper boy almost snapping in half under his beefy boyfriend.

His beefy boyfriend.

It shouldn't have been so shitty, to face the fact that, in the end, Kihyun didn't deserve a good guy like Hyunwoo. It shouldn't have been so surprising.

Kihyun had talked about it with Hoseok earlier that afternoon. Talked about it for a good hour. Assured the poor guy over and over that no, he truly wasn't heartbroken, no, it wasn't about Hyunwoo _per se_ ; it was about his pride and self-worth. It was about longing to be with someone _like_ Hyunwoo. Longing to be sure that the person wouldn't cast him aside, or belittle him, or expect him to do things that big guys always expected small guys to do simply because they were small.

He'd unloaded it all, the letdown, the dread of men who _didn't_ resemble Hyunwoo. He'd talked to Hoseok with more honesty than he could afford even with Minhyuk, and Hoseok had taken in the explanation in a soothing silence. Then he'd done that small thing he'd grown used to doing and pecked Kihyun's forehead, lightly, to let him know that he got it. That he got Kihyun, no matter what.

But despite their candid talk, Kihyun couldn't talk to Hoseok about the bet. He couldn't bring himself to do it. It was one thing to share how shitty he felt and how shitty he actually was to ever even treat Hyunwoo as a prize in a wager.

Silhouettes went white above the surface and threw walls of black water at each other. White arms, white teeth, monochrome shadows.

Kihyun still saw shapes and shades all too well to let go of the stubborn conviction that he was sober. He turned to the shore to search for another bottle, uncapped it, and let it pour down his mouth as though it could wash away the heartbeat-y hummingbird who fluttered there.

“Ki,” warned Hoseok. He made a move to take the soju from him. Kihyun held Hoseok back, petite palm wedged between his pecs.

Yeah. He was warm.

“Let me get smashed,” rasped Kihyun when he finished drinking, the burn honing his words and voice into sharp objects falling into the water.

“I would, if it was helping you,” said Hoseok.

“It's helping me to forget tomorrow.”

“What's tomorrow?”

Kihyun swallowed. “Nothing,” he lied. “Hangover, I guess.”

Reaching out, Hoseok ruffled Kihyun's hair and passed his forehead, where he paused.

“There,” mumbled Kihyun. “That's where it's bad.”

“Here?” asked Hoseok, feeling his forehead and temples.

Kihyun made a small sound to let Hoseok know that yes, it was his head, not his heart. It was his mind, and his mind was in chaos.

When he saw himself through his mind's eye, he saw himself far away from anything that resembled love. Love was unreachable. Confident or not, cute or not, he still couldn't get it.

Would it have been easier without the whole wager? Would it have been better if Kihyun and Hyunwoo had never talked one on one, and he hadn't gotten hopeful because of it?

He again looked over to where the rest of the team played war. This time around Kihyun could see only Hyunwoo's broad back.

A wistful voice told him to go, go somewhere where he was unknown. Go against the river until there was no river to go against. Outstare the stream until it turned back and he could walk over the balmy river bed untouched by the water's fascinating force. But the river didn't turn around and Kihyun didn't move, and the ripples touched him everywhere, curling cool into the dips between his ribs and running in the creases under his bent knees. Lapping at him.

Waves lapped at Hoseok's chest too. Kihyun knew that because he still held Hoseok at arm's length. There was space between his palm and the seam of Hoseok's chest because Kihyun had his hand cupped, like he was holding it over an oval-shaped pendant from a faraway, forbidden land.

The wanderlust grew.

The need to run grew as well.

Listless, Kihyun locked eyes with Hoseok and said: “I know I'm being dramatic, but can we go?”

“To the cabin?”

“No, just... down the stream. Or up. Away from people.”

“Am I not people?” Hoseok risked a smile. Immediately it wavered.

Pulled in by how dead the corners of Hoseok's mouth dropped, Kihyun took the back of Hoseok's head, lowered it down, and pecked him below the hairline.

“You're just one,” said Kihyun as he put some room between them. He breathed in through his nose, stifling a small burp. “The only one.”

 

~

 

Halfway through their path upstream, a giggly realization glimmered through Kihyun's head to sneer at him: they could have gone downstream instead. Stubborn, and with a stumbling Hoseok hanging off his arm, Kihyun pulled a face at the delayed genius idea and trudged on.

They waded against the waves which snaked past them as black, translucent sarees. The ache to roam that led Kihyun on was stronger than his reason, and he finally had to accept that he wasn't as sober as he'd fancied himself to be. His balance was off and his notion of time close to non-existent. They could have been going in circles for the past hour and he wouldn't have known. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found that the others swam within sight, and his chin crumpled as he turned back forward and carried on.

Hoseok, who had thrown back a can of beer before they'd set off, seemed to be toeing his limit too. He'd arrived at his “cute drunk” stage, all bumbly and big. He watched the obscure world around him with glazed doe eyes. Each of the boys crushed a sloshing bottle of soju in his hand, taking an occasional sip when they stopped by a boulder; some of them bald, some of them overgrown with reeds.

Alcohol kept their heads hot, yet the boys were still present. Still mentally there. Kihyun was trying not to be.

Every couple of steps (so, approximately, every couple of minutes), Hoseok insisted he would lead the way and protect Kihyun from the flood washing over them. Kihyun had to hold Hoseok back whenever he tried because if they split, that would be the end of it.

Ten metres more upstream, another shiny idea illuminated the inside of Kihyun's brewed brain as it dawned on him that they could have walked on the beach. He grimaced.

They didn't stop for as long as they could see the outlines of bathing bodies and a sporadic outpour of screen light. By then, Kihyun barely limped on, his limbs frozen and stinging in places where they'd gotten tangled in reedy weeds with sharp stems.

Reaching a flat rock, Kihyun stalled, resting his back against it. It was slick with algae, but the river itself hurried by clear and clean-smelling. His chest heaved.

“You okay?” he asked as he held his arm out for Hoseok. The older boy took it, bringing his bulk to rest beside Kihyun.

“Yeah. 'M okay,” said Hoseok, hoarse from strain. There was a whine to his voice. “Just thinking about suing the gym.”

Kihyun gave a tired chuckle. “It's your parent's gym.”

“Well, then I will sue my parents,” pouted Hoseok.

Kihyun chuckled louder, lovelier, and it would've lasted longer if he hadn't heard someone call to Hyunwoo downstream. His amusement died down, as did his smile.

It didn't escape Hoseok, however hazy his eyes blinked into the night.

“Ki.”

“Yeah?”

“You... you told me it's not _really_ him, but...”

“It's not.”

“But it's hurting you.”

Words stampeded through his rib cage. Words that sought to reassure Hoseok and to once more tell him a little less than he actually felt.

“It is,” said Kihyun with finality, knowing it wasn't the good answer but the right one. “I'll be fine, though.” Once his ridiculous reputation as the Rear-naked Runner died down. “It's just...”

“Yeah?” prompted Hoseok quietly.

“I've built all these expectations – I've let myself believe that someone could be ideal for me, and now I'm watching it all fall down. And it feels stupid. It hurts how stupid it is.”

“It's not stupid,” said Hoseok. “It's what everybody wants.”

“I guess.” Kihyun exhaled, the slimy surface of the rock making him slip down. He steadied his footing. “I just wanted – I just wanted to be in love and loved and go on late night ramen dates and kiss a little, and then kiss a little more than just a little, and then... be normal.”

“Normal?” echoed Hoseok. His face stopped as it was, the expression unchanging.

“Normal, like everyone else. I wanted a boyfriend, you know, all-inclusive. Not because of fucking,” he blurted, stumbling over his swollen tongue, “but because I... I haven't done anything else either. And I wanted to. Want to.”

A meaningful silence fell over them. Lolling his head back to lay it on top of the rock, Hoseok gave a grin. Cute, but coy, but cute. Kihyun had to tip his head back too to read him better, and it sent a spark of vertigo down his stomach. He knew Hoseok was going to tease him, timidly, in that sweet way that meant no harm, before Hoseok even spoke up.

“Is that why you were so outraged that I've slept with men before? Because you still have your cherry?”

“I wasn't outraged! I was – surprised.”

“Why? Is it because I'm ugly?” sniffed Hoseok.

“Please. If you are ugly, I'm a squid.”

“A cute squid. A cute cherry boy.”

Cherry boy! Kihyun felt his face go upside down and inside out.

“Squid I'll take. But call me cherry boy one more time and...”

“And?”

“And I will dislike it severely,” he muttered, deflating.

Hoseok breathed out a laugh. His arm leaned into Kihyun's. The contact was clammy, and as close as though their skins would never unstick.

“But you've had boyfriends before, Ki. Haven't you?”

“One. And it doesn't really matter. He wasn't – we weren't... I couldn't bring myself to try it with him because there was this – disconnection – is it dumb? Is it dumb that I couldn't even go for a mutual wank because we weren't _connected_?” Kihyun mocked himself.

“Would have been dumber to go through with it when you weren't sure, if you ask me,” slurred Hoseok, serious.

“Everyone else does it, though. Everyone else is so free and unafraid and –”

“You're unafraid,” Hoseok chimed in.

“– and they fall for people at first sight and have these wonderful youths because they are happy and beautiful and they don't have to fight to be taken seriously.” Kihyun snorted. “Other people's lives are so goddamn perfect. No wonder they have the time and mood to wank.”

Softly, Hoseok burst out, and Kihyun joined in although his laughter trembled bitter in the air between them.

“So that's it. You just want to be loved. By someone good. Someone nice who will wank you off and let you wank him,” summarized Hoseok, his glee there in one minute – and gone in the other. “You want...”

“I just want –” started Kihyun at the same time, stifling the rest.

The bird in his throat was back, alive and beating and bringing bile up along with all the longing Kihyun had suppressed in his awkward adolescent life. Yes. He wanted to be loved. By someone good. Who wouldn't treat him as though he was made of sugar or glass and who wouldn't coil away from his body rather than explore and memorize its shape.

He wanted someone who would let him do the same. Who would let him in, some day. A man who wouldn't be ashamed to moan under him simply because Kihyun wasn't _manly_.

“I just,” he repeated, stilling himself at the same point as before.

His veins thrummed, and in them rushed his pent up youth. Wanderlust to lust, lust to wanderlust.

They stood there anchored by the boulder, their bottles soon emptied and their hearts fuller. Their arms stayed pressed together the whole time, reminding Kihyun of how nice a simple human touch could be when the person next to him was someone he trusted. Someone good.

Someone good.

Kihyun stared into the night, and he thought of all the alcohol, and of the dark – so thick that he could wear it, so skintight – and of Hyunwoo. Of Hyunwoo and what they could have been. Hyunwoo. Hoseok. Hyunwoo. Even the river seemed to whisper his name. The rolling water could taste it when Kihyun couldn't. All he tasted was defeat. And cheap soju. And he wished to drown the taste.

He roared.

“I just want to suck a dick!”

The echo of his voice carried over the river, rippling with every little wave, breaking over every stream-smoothened stone. Someone laughed in the distance.

Next to him, Hoseok sobbed.

“Do you know who else has a dick, Kihyunnie?”

Kihyun hiccuped. “Who?”

Hoseok hiccuped harder. He hit his chest with an open palm.

“This hyung!”

Reeling a bit, Kihyun steadied himself by grabbing Hoseok's shoulders. And his neck, and he clasped Hoseok's face into his hands, making a tiny cup out of them.

“Do you truly?” asked Kihyun, awed.

“It's there,” said Hoseok solemnly. He sniffled short and hard.

By his expression, which sat adorable between his fluffed up cheeks, Kihyun could take Hoseok at his word. Hoseok was being honest with him. His eyes were slowly turning glossy the longer he faced Kihyun's scrutiny, but he did not buck, nor did he evade the soulsearch, like a liar would.

Hoseok wasn't a liar.

He didn't dance for others.

Kihyun shook his head and peered back up.

“Hyung. Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered, a thick, oozing quiet punctuating the question.

Not hesitating one bit, Hoseok nodded. As Kihyun took a step towards him, an air of confidentiality grew between them. The following remark folded itself into a tiny, neat envelope on the tip of Kihyun's tongue, like a private letter. But a miniature one. One that could only be said face to face; breath to breath.

“I have one too,” said Kihyun gravely.

Hoseok gasped. “That's two whole dicks.”

“It is,” agreed Kihyun, his math skills still with him. He halted, his sadness returning and seizing him. “But which one do I suck?”

Their gazes dropped down as they tried to pierce through the blackness of the water waving around their waists. They were lost for words, waiting for a solution to their dilemma to part the stardusted surface of the river and jump up like a fish.

Two dicks, and his mouth was still empty. Kihyun sniffed.

“See,” he seethed, voice breaking. “See, this is exactly it! When I'm with a wrong guy, I can't do it – and when I'm with a good guy, I can't do it either.”

“With a good guy?” Hoseok lifted his eyes. “Am I the good guy?”

“The best. The kindest.” His hands, which had been cupping Hoseok's head, finally fell off. “What do I have to do to have someone like – someone like –”

Torn, the silver thread of his thoughts resounded in the night and got swallowed up by the swoosh of the stream. Hoseok whispered beside him, just enough for Kihyun to hear.

“You have to walk up to the whole volleyball team in your oversized silly sweater and big round glasses and socks pulled up real high, and you have to tell all those guys who are twice your size that you want to be their new libero. You also have to get into a fist fight because of one of those guys. And you have to be freckled from head to toe.” Hoseok paused, one finger gliding over a choppy crest of the river, and another, and another. “Then you can have someone like... someone like...”

“You.”

With gentleness that could kill, Hoseok repeated it. “Someone like me.”

“But I already did that,” snipped Kihyun, the bridge of his nose scrunching up as he suppressed another sniffle. “I did that months ago. I did that _today._ ”

Hoseok didn't move. Didn't change his tone.

“Exactly.”

Sullen, Kihyun stared at the water, thinking of how unfair the world was. Even when he'd done literally everything, he still didn't deserve Hoseok.

He should just drown.

It was then that the second Austenian epiphany of his life tore right through him fiber by fiber. As he rewinded Hoseok's condition in his head to listen to it again, a bone-deep blindness seeped out of him in an inkstain of murk and grime.

Kihyun wasn't an Elizabeth Bennet. He was an Emma Woodhouse, fabricating a future with what was his dream version of an unknown man, when someone who could truly offer it had been by his side from the beginning.

He briskly glanced up and to the side, where Hoseok was playing with waves with his back arched against the boulder. His hooded eyes looked like they loved what they saw, telling it the way weightless words couldn't. He was looking up.

Looking at Kihyun.

Mimicking the river, protests rushed out of Kihyun.

“But that's – that's not true. You don't – no.”

If Hyunwoo was a good guy, Hoseok was a too-good guy. Nobody was worthy of Hoseok.

It was all bollocks, anyway. Hoseok thought of him as a friend. The things they would do together had never crossed any line. Kihyun went through his memories one by one. The dinner dates in Hoseok's fort lit up with fairy lights even at the highest peak of summer. The training sessions and joint showers afterwards. Body heat shared under one blanket. A stray peck here and there that would either ground Kihyun or steal the ground from underneath his feet. The dance.

Kihyun let out a startled little “Fuck.” Before Hoseok could clasp his face and see what was wrong, Kihyun evaded him and slumped down, down under the surface, the solid hum of the stream blocking out the world above. Paralyzing cold clogged his ears. Lips and eyes sealed, Kihyun gave himself over to the freezing flow, hoping his lungs would give out at any moment and end his existence. He sat heavy in the even heavier pulse and press of the water until two arms hooked under his armpits, lifted Kihyun up, and placed him on the slimy rock.

“Put me back!” demanded Kihyun, coughing. “Let me Ophelia myself!”

“I won't let you Ophelia yourself, whatever that means!” said Hoseok. He was moon-eyed and shook hard, probably from holding Kihyun. He cinched Kihyun's waist with his arms, wrapping them tight.

“You have to!” insisted Kihyun. “I deserve death!”

“No, you don't, you dramatic dolt!”

“I do! I thought I was so smart – I thought I could cultivate a crush like it was some kind of fucking cactus – and I closed my eyes to everything and everyone else –”

“But can you open them?” Hoseok interrupted him. “Can you do it? Not now – but in time?”

“They're open,” said Kihyun sharply. He rubbed at his eyelids, effectively hiding himself from Hoseok despite what he'd just said. A sigh slipped past his lips, trembling there as a miniature earthquake in a miniature crystal snowball. The dead-cold top of the stone stabbed his skin. Kihyun clenched and unclenched his teeth to stop them from chattering. “Wide open,” he added.

“No, Ki, I'm asking if –”

“I know. I know what you're asking.” He pushed his bangs back with rigid fingers. Droplets dripped down his nose. “And I'm answering.”

It had been right in front of him since day one. That look. That I-love-you look and those I-love-you touches and all those times Hoseok would wait aside, unheard and unanswered, and still smile. He'd been there while Kihyun had chased after illusions and chased away anything that _wasn't_ an illusion.

An afterthought came to him that he hadn't always left Hoseok unanswered. Not truly. He'd been responding to Hoseok for just as long, though softer, subtler, without really realizing it. Kihyun had brought him to choir sessions just to prove himself and to see Hoseok's starshiny, glass-like gaze turned to him. He'd let Hoseok handle him, and sometimes had even sought his warmth and presence. He'd beaten up a boy because of Hoseok and he raged to do it over and over whenever his attention stuttered over the swell of Hoseok's too-big nose.

Kihyun hung his shoulders as he understood at last that they'd been calling to each other this whole time, standing on top of two cliffs split by an echoless bay; calling but missing the other's call.

“You can't control a crush,” whispered Kihyun when Hoseok wouldn't speak, watching the shadowdance of Kihyun's features instead and deciphering each little pull. “It's just there.”

His grip on Kihyun's waist remained steadfast. Other than that, softness seemed to drain out of Hoseok's body and travel up to his face, which stared at Kihyun upturned and bare.

“It's there,” repeated Kihyun. He stopped himself short of tracing the broad bridge of Hoseok's nose, knowing that it would hurt him if he carried on. What he didn't stop himself from was leaning forward and tilting Hoseok head backwards.

Indecision hung between their barely parted mouths.

Hoseok pulled back.

“Are you saying this – are you doing this because you're drunk?” he asked, guarded.

“I'm drunk, but I'm not dumb.” Kihyun cringed at himself. “Not anymore.”

“Oh.” Staring, Hoseok took a second to snap out of his trance. He turned his eyes away and let them rise again. “ _Oh_.” Empty-handed, he gingerly put his arms back around Kihyun's waist, testing if it was fine with him. He peeked up.

“What is it?” murmured Kihyun.

“Nothing! Nothing. Just.” Hoseok treaded water. Literally. “You were about to... about to kiss me, weren't you?”

“A little,” said Kihyun very quietly.

Hoseok's heavy chest fell. He smiled. “Okay, then – don't let me disturb you, I'll just...”

Prattling, he put his face up to be kissed. His voice withered like wet blossoms left in direct sunlight, dying a slow death.

Following the voice, Kihyun held on to the edge of the rock he was perched on and leaned over.

“But are _you_ sure?” he managed to say before Hoseok closed the chasm keeping them apart – the couple of centimetres wide chasm which tasted of infinity – and kissed him.

Kihyun had guessed the kiss would be all stale soju and, thanks to him, a tinge of river water. He'd been wrong about that, as it turned out. He'd been wrong about many things.

Hoseok crushed his chilled lips to his, his tongue so hot that Kihyun opened up for it like a layer of breaking ice over a lake welcoming the thaw. He curled his arms around Hoseok's neck as he craned lower to take the soft tongue in, all of it, with its curiosity and experience. Hoseok had kissed before, and he kissed well, Kihyun barely keeping up with him. He took small sips of breath as Hoseok slowed the kiss only to deepen it without warning. He rushed; he played with Kihyun's lips in lazy licks; he brought him down by the nape of his neck to rush again.

He kissed the fuck out of Kihyun.

A whimper rose up his throat and escaped into Hoseok's mouth. Hoseok smiled around it; swallowed it; kissed Kihyun harder for it. Then, as if to give him mercy and time to collect himself, he backed off. Faintly, he touched his lips to Kihyun's face, mapping his freckles: the one by the corner of his mouth, those splattered over his nose. Those on his neck. The kisses were whispers, they were so light.

He went on capturing dark moles down Kihyun's collarbones and stomach, stopping there, searching for more constellations to warm up with his lips. He looked up, and Kihyun looked down, and it only then occurred to him that they were naked and Hoseok hovered dangerously near his cock and that his cock had grown to its full girth. It lay on his belly, thick although on the shorter side, and it throbbed as though sensing Hoseok's proximity.

“Well,” observed Hoseok, tone shy but face far from it, “I think we've solved the riddle.”

“What riddle?” squeezed out Kihyun.

Hoseok's lips glistened in the dark, wet, as he lowered them and brushed his upper lip over the head of Kihyun's cock and then closed his mouth around it.

Oh. The two dicks riddle. The which-one-do-I-suck riddle.

Kihyun's hips shot upwards.

“What are you doing?” he quavered, aching for Hoseok to use that tongue again.

There was no way Hoseok was going to suck him off, though. He was just – kissing him there. Yes. That was all. Kissing, as he'd kissed Kihyun from the top to the tip of his cock.

Kihyun reasoned with himself. They were outside and it was damp and cold and the team bathed nearby, unseen, yet doing so much ruckus that any sense of privacy was lost. Shrieks and splashes travelled upstream, reaching them in parts and pieces, doubled, tripled by reverberations.

What Kihyun clung to was that Hoseok was a good guy. A bring-me-home-by-seven guy. He surely didn't mean to –

Mid-thought, Kihyun moaned. Hoseok had taken in the whole tip, his tongue unfolding under the tender underside of it.

“You can't do this _here_ ,” shout-whispered Kihyun.

With his cheeks full of cock, Hoseok looked like he was sulking. Which, upon removing Kihyun's hard-on from his mouth, turned out to be true.

“Why not?” he retorted, blushing. Biding his time. His pout had to be the single most endearing thing on earth. Too bad it did nothing to soften Kihyun's erection.

“Because I'm –” Kihyun blushed the same shade. “Because I'm loud. When I come.”

Hoseok studied him for a while.

“But you want to. You want me to make you come,” he said at last, thinking. “Don't you?”

“Yes, for fuck's sake, but everyone's will hear!”

Bending back over, Hoseok said something under his breath, smiling in secret.

“Good.”

“Oh, fuck,” said Kihyun in a half-whimper as Hoseok swallowed him up to the root. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, the current of curses incessant.

Stiffly, he lay back, the stone slick with algae causing him to slip further down and part his thighs for Hoseok to lean in between them. Chest on the craggy side of the rock, Hoseok clasped Kihyun in place and bobbed his head. The inside of his mouth could sear Kihyun into ashes.

His endless chant of _fuck fuck fuck_ jumped an octave when Hoseok swirled his tongue and pressed it against the crown of Kihyun's cock. Kihyun's feet tensed and curled. His chest was completely airless as he stared up at the sky, choking back sounds. The stars above twinkled and laughed at him as he lay there splayed and sucked on and a little bit in love.

He remembered his room and his nightly rendezvous with his hand, sad, silent until it got good, Puccini playing at full blast to cover his panting and make it seem like he was rehearsing and not wanking. He would sing along sometimes, to give his cover credibility.

Coiling into himself as his stomach contracted, with Hoseok's tongue deliciously cushioning his cock from below and tasting his shaft, Kihyun let out the first few nervous notes of _Nessun Dorma_. The lyrics lilted in the air in abundant Italian, Kihyun's accent rich even as his voice remained a fraction of what it usually was.

“Nobody shall sleep... Nobody shall sleep... Even you, oh princess, in your cold room...“

Hoseok snorted, mouth filled and eyes flitting up to sparkle at Kihyun. He pulled away long enough to circle the crown of Kihyun's cock with the tip of his tongue and run it over his slit, dipping in the slightest. Kihyun's voice hitched.

“Watch the stars that tremble with love and with hope. But my secret is hidden within me, my name no one shall know...” he continued, his tummy and cock twitching.

The serenade seemed to only spur Hoseok on. He worked Kihyun's flushed head, discovering how sensitive it was compared to the rest of his cock, and licked over its lovely shape in thick stripes. He put one hand on the base of Kihyun's hard-on and, lightly cupping his sack with the heel of his palms in one go, he _squeezed_.

“On your mouth, I will tell it when the light shines,” sang Kihyun shrilly. He paused for air, then resumed. “And my kiss will dissolve the silence that makes you mine!...”

Rolling his balls in his hand, Hoseok bent lower and relaxed his jaw, taking in Kihyun's whole length. The wet, burning insides of his mouth wrapped Kihyun tight, leaving no space and no chance _not_ to come.

“Vanish, oh night! Set, stars! Set, stars! At dawn, I will win! I will win! I will win!” he yelled in perfect vibrato.

After that, Kihyun moaned aloud, his voice so strong that no aria could conceal the sound. He grabbed a fistful of Hoseok's hair, leading him onto his cock. There was a choked sigh, but Hoseok pressed his face into Kihyun's groin, unlocked his throat, and stayed in place until salty spams of cum stung his tongue. Some of it dribbled down his chin, leaking from the corners of his mouth.

Downstream reigned silence. Then – laughter. Then someone clapped.

Kihyun groaned, the last drop of cum leaving him with a heavy throb.

Under him, Hoseok laved at his shaft, leaving kisses up Kihyun's silky veins to the swollen head. There he settled, lips parted and enclosing the delicate crown like he couldn't get enough of its smoothness.

Kihyun hung his head back, his voice gone save for groans and gasps. He took Hoseok by the cheek, noting the fullness of his face. People shouldn't be so soft to the gaze and touch while eating a dick, and yet here Hoseok was, all round-eyed and round-faced and lovable.

Tracing his rounded cheekbone, Kihyun patted it with a thumb and started to push Hoseok off, gently, though with resolution. As his cock plopped out of Hoseok's mouth, it felt like it fell into icy water and Kihyun hissed, suddenly unused to anything but Hoseok's warmth. He picked himself up with great effort, leaning on his elbows, enduring the sharpness of the rock's rough edges.

“I told you they would hear me,” he complained, so weakened that even _that_ sounded like a moan.

“And I told you: _good_.” Hoseok grinned up at him as he pressed the last cheeky peck on Kihyun's cock. He planted some more on Kihyun's stomach. Burrowing his face there, he closed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Wheeze. “Peachy.” Wheeze. “Eyes: open.”

“Are they?” murmured Hoseok, his own eyelids down and calm, without a single flutter. He hid a smile where Kihyun's tummy creased from sitting.

“Yep. Just. Starstruck.”

“Starstruck?” queried Hoseok. “But I'm not a star.”

“Well. You definitely made me see some.”

Snorting, Hoseok took Kihyun by the hips, heaved him up, and put him back into the river. Their chests clung together, clammy, seeking human temperature in the water cold like loneliness.

Kihyun let tremors tear through him, turning him into a struck gong. He didn't fight it. Hoseok shivered harder than Kihyun, after all. When they hugged, faces buried in each other's necks, Hoseok's cradled Kihyun's head.

“I'm freezing,” he whispered.

Standing there without moving had taken its toll on Hoseok. He was built like one of those heavy-set Victorian houses with thick walls and dense woodwork, but the river and tonight's brass monkey weather had done their share. Hoseok gave a potent sneeze as he hung off Kihyun's small shoulders, and Kihyun's memory took an express train to this afternoon. He recalled the game, the foul. Hoseok's stunned expression.

His protectiveness came coursing back, refilling his veins with a rush of life.

As weary as he was, he held his breath, gripped Hoseok's waist, and lifted him up with a mighty tug. His back almost broke as he stumbled backwards and into the boulder. Had Hoseok not extended his arm and kept it outstretched to stop himself from collapsing on top of Kihyun, he would have crushed the boy. They chuckled, Hoseok pushing them off the rock and giving Kihyun momentum to carry him to the riverside.

They climbed up on the shore, their bare butts mooning the moonless sky. Without exchanging a word, they left their clothes behind, lying somewhere downstream.

They left the beach holding hands.


	11. Thigh Fucking, But Fancy

Back by the river, Kihyun had been able to forget how complete the darkness could get when it spread above and around him, starless. The unlit bathroom reminded him of just how woven and soul-black the dark could be when the night was at its sleepiest, the summer at its coldest, and when the only constellations left to guide Hoseok's hands were those on Kihyun's body.

A single stream of water shimmered down their shoulders, sprinkling their faces in between kisses. Steam grew and rose around them, thickening into corporeal clouds. Kihyun couldn't see and touch the mist, but it was tangible enough to touch _him_ , wrapping him like the water wrapped him, clothing him like the dark clothed him.

When they'd run away from the riverside, they had been naked and crisp with cold. Hoseok had pulled Kihyun towards the cabin, and Kihyun had pulled Hoseok towards the showers because he wasn't going to wake up in the morning with a rash or a strand of algae dried dense green to his back. The tug-of-war had come and gone quickly, Hoseok giving in in an instant and stumbling in Kihyun's footsteps. They hadn't put the lights on. Hadn't locked the door. They were free, and kissing, and the wanderlust within Kihyun's chest had smoothed down from the stormiest ocean to the calmest bay. He wasn't chasing an unknown direction anymore. He wasn't turning in place, movements reduced to a small circle as he sought for the way to go.

Perhaps he wasn't already there, wherever the elusive “there” was supposed to be. For now, the only thing he knew was that he wasn't adrift and aimless. And it wasn't just Hoseok who anchored Kihyun, or his feelings. (Fuck. Hoseok had feelings for him.) It was _Kihyun's_ feelings that polished the path in front of him, reshaping it from a labyrinth to a one-way road.

He liked that road. Liked how easily he walked it, with Hoseok before him, beside him, behind him.

When they washed off the last drop of river water and the lingering scent of rotting moss, they groped in the blackness for a couple of towels, and only found one, and shared it. The dark deepened their discoveries as kisses fell to strange places and copied curves that they would otherwise miss in the light.

They got to the cabin barefoot and breathless. Nobody was in yet. A sliver of milk-blue haze contoured the remote orchards. Inside, the boys busied themselves by fumbling for clothes which they didn't put on. One of them lit up a lamp and threw a jersey over it to dim down the sudden outpour of white glow. Hoseok. Was it Hoseok?

Kihyun folded himself on the bottom bunk and stared up at Hoseok, thankful for the light. Hoseok stood broad by the bed with nothing on as he massaged lotion into his skin. He went from his arms to his legs within seconds, movements measured and learned by heart. As he bent over to work the lotion into his thighs, the thick flesh looked like Hoseok was only just sculpting it into its final shape. It sang under his stubby fingers, moving, mighty, and Kihyun sat on his hands so he wouldn't reach out and make Hoseok sing too.

Somewhere in his fugged brain, Kihyun was aware that he should be at least mildly ashamed of his little aria in the river, and he _would_ be, probably, after he'd sobered up and faced everyone who had heard him. For the time being, though, he couldn't concentrate on anything apart from the safe solitude of the cabin, and the shadows dappling Hoseok's thighs, and the smell of coconuts.

Catching Kihyun's eyes, Hoseok smiled as he straightened up.

“I chafe sometimes when I don't do this,” he explained, a shade of shyness colouring his smile.

“I know,” said Kihyun. The reply came to him as quick as the sequence of Hoseok's nightly skincare routines: the small dances he would do to slap the cream over his shoulder blades and the back of his thighs; the man-breaking self-confidence with which he would take up space undressed to his short shorts, not even posing, just being.

How Kihyun missed those shorts.

Hoseok's smile grew softer. He put the lotion away and slapped his leg.

“Moister than an oyster.”

“That's gross,” said Kihyun, not meaning a bit of it, and Hoseok laughed because he must have known.

Hoseok put out the light and sent the cabin into a brief blackout. Kihyun blinked once, twice, and noted with a fluid feeling of relief that the night had become incomplete in the meantime, milked down to dawn blues.

Ducking, Hoseok sat down beside Kihyun, shifting as a block of shadows. The thin mattress creaked and hollowed under him. He recaptured Kihyun's lips, crossing out the walk from the bathroom here and transporting Kihyun back to the whispery, shimmery darkness of the windowless room.

This time, Kihyun put his hands into his lap. He wasn't getting hard, not yet at least; but Hoseok's presence sent small chills through his nerve-endings, and that in turn caused a strange sort of heaviness to settle all over him. The sad thing was, Hoseok wasn't getting hard either. From what Kihyun had seen when the lamp was still on, he just... hung there.

Which was a pity.

They lay down in unison, Hoseok holding the nape of Kihyun's neck to navigate him. Chest to chest on top of the covers, they kissed, and kissed, and kissed, and it would have bruised if they had been rushing. Kihyun combed through Hoseok's hair with some trepidation, the dense, wet locks no longer dripping. Instead they smoothly slipped from his fingers, the tips spiky. Hoseok's hair was cool, his scalp hot, and his tongue – his tongue was spilled fire and soju lighting Kihyun up from the inside.

His cock thickened as he remembered where that mouth had been not even an hour before. He paused in the middle of the kiss to calm himself down, lips open against Hoseok's lips. All gears within him faltered.

“What?” whispered Hoseok, mouth moving over Kihyun's.

Tongue-tied, Kihyun shook his head.

Hoseok pulled away.

“What?” he repeated.

“Nothing,” said Kihyun quickly.

“Tell me.” Hoseok shrank into himself, the hand that had been stroking the back of Kihyun's neck coming between his pecs and closing there.

“There's nothing to tell. I'm just.” Shy. Hard.

Scared that this was temporary.

The thought jolted Kihyun towards Hoseok, clumsy touches mapping him into existence, into permanence.

“You're so smooth,” he murmured, hands running down Hoseok's body from each side, front and back, and halting at his waist. It was as though his hands were two mountain peak wanderers used to high altitude who feared to go any lower because the absence of thin air could be their downfall. Plateaued in place, the tips of Kihyun's fingers twitched over Hoseok's skin. Then, afraid and grabbing onto anything in their way, they began to rise back up.

Hoseok's hand that had been resting tucked at his chest sank down and covered Kihyun's. Real time ticked on. Felt time stretched, expanding into an eternity of microcosmoses. One full cosmos beat under Kihyun's palm.

Quietly, Hoseok brought Kihyun's hand up, watching him over the knuckles as he pressed kisses over his palm lines.

“Did you change your mind?” he asked, hushed by the kisses.

“No. No way.” Kihyun freed himself only to clasp Hoseok's wrist and tug at it. He buried his face against the back of Hoseok's hand, kissing it to return the affection. To give it twofold. “I'm pretty unmovable once I decide, you know. I want this. Want you. Us.”

Hoseok smiled. “And the eyes?”

“Open,” said Kihyun right away. He would have cringed at the eagerness if Hoseok's smile didn't spread wider. The rest came out easy, because everything was easy when Hoseok gave him that look. “I'm just. I'm just unsure if _you're_ sure.”

“I've been sure ever since you marched on that court.”

“Even though I... even though I was running after another guy?”

“That never really mattered. I would have been sure even if you had ended up with Hyunwoo. I would have known it was you, even if you and I were never together.”

Kihyun inhaled, shuddering.

“Are we together?”

“I'd goddamn say so,” whispered Hoseok, his soft voice clashing with how serious he looked.

“Dating?” asked Kihyun.

“Duh.”

“Boyfriend and boyfriend?”

“Unless you'd rather be my girlfriend,” deadpanned Hoseok, but he did it so sweetly that Kihyun couldn't even complain.

“But you – you're used to different guys,” he said instead.

As soon as he'd voiced the concern into existence, Kihyun pressed his burning tongue into his teeth from behind, keeping it locked there so he wouldn't blurt out more. Luckily for him, Hoseok didn't seem fazed by the short outrush.

“Different, how?” he asked calmly. Curiously, even.

Kihyun bit himself before he responded. “Big guys.”

“Not really?” said Hoseok.

“What do you mean, not really?”

“They weren't all big.” Hoseok shrugged. An impish grin curled the corners of his mouth. “Though none of them was as tiny as you.”

“Figures,” grumbled Kihyun.

“They were just guys, Ki. Guys like you and me.” Hoseok gazed at Kihyun then, gazed _into_ him, and there was a subtle challenge to it which invited Kihyun to ask how many there had been, or how good they'd been.

Kihyun didn't quite care for that, though. He had other things on his mind.

“You're not... settling for me, then?”

“Settling for you? Me? For you?”

“Yeah. Because. You know.”

“No.” Hoseok stared right into his eyes. “I don't know.”

“Because I'm...” Small. And so, so awkward at times. “...Just... here.”

“I made the mistake of dating guys for the wrong reason in the past. I'm not about to do that again. I'd go out with anyone simply because they were the ones to approach me first and because it didn't hurt to give them a chance. But I'm the one who's doing the choosing this time. I'm the one who wants this.”

“I want this too,” affirmed Kihyun, too deadass to blush.

Studying him for a while, Hoseok cracked another mini-smile.

“Good.”

 _That_ made Kihyun blush because it brought him back to the river, to the algae winding around his ankles and Hoseok glancing up at him with laughing sparks in his eyes and voice. _Good_ , Hoseok had said, the word as tangy as the pulp of some kind of unripe, fleshy fruit. _Good_ , before he'd wrapped his lips around him.

Unable to think it through, Kihyun squeezed out: “But I've never...”

He pulled the rest back.

Hoseok already knew. He didn't have to point out that he was a fool with essentially zero experience in these matters. Not again, anyway. He'd said it all when he and Hoseok had waded through the waters, sinking into ethanol clouds and sand.

A thumb caressed his cheekbone.

“So what?” murmured Hoseok.

“It's not a _so what_ thing to me,” he replied, tone on the edge of snapping. “Obviously, I don't want to be shit at it.”

“You won't be shit at it,” Hoseok chuckled out. He grazed the curve of Kihyun's jaw, thumbing his way to the pointed chin. “I'll walk you through it. When the time comes.”

The promise went right to Kihyun's groin, where it struck him awake the way a stopped clock hiccups back to life and starts ticking after a long pause and silence. He was a heartbeat. His real heartbeat held its breath.

“But when we try to. You know. What if we don't... fit?” he finished lamely.

There was a strangled sound as Hoseok laughed with his mouth closed, throaty, and the laughter scattered in the predawn as he burst out.

“Then we use more lube,” he simpered.

“That's not what I meant!” snipped Kihyun. “I'm not talking about us two fitting physically. I'm talking... about the overall thing. I don't know what you're used to.”

His grin withering to a smile, to a ghost of it, to nothing, Hoseok stopped tracing Kihyun's features. He contemplated the implied question for a minute, not looking at Kihyun directly and instead lingering on the dimples that had crumpled his chin. The second-hand stare-down pierced through Kihyun nevertheless, with Hoseok pinning him in place even without proper eye contact. Kihyun's body hummed on in a constant basso continuo, from the base of his neck down to where he'd hardened to fullness. Hummed for Hoseok. Restless.

“I could show you,” offered Hoseok in an undertone, and Kihyun scarcely kept his jaw from coming unhinged.

“How?” he croaked.

“Just. By pretending.”

“You mean – the position?”

“Yeah. If that's okay with you.”

“Sure. Sure, yeah. It's okay. Show me.”

They spoke in half-sentences, both understanding what the other one meant regardless.

Kihyun mentally prepared himself to be plopped on his back like a clumsy beetle. He wasn't bitter about it; the sooner he knew for sure, the better. Sleeping together was something he and Hoseok should discuss, that was without question, if only to share their preferences. Kihyun simply hadn't imagined that the topic would come up so soon – literally an hour or so into dating.

Then again, an hour or so ago, he wouldn't have imagined _being_ with Hoseok in the first place. The sheer notion was still something so outlandish to him, something so unachievable, that Kihyun never would have humoured himself to even think about Hoseok in that way. Even as he lay beside Hoseok, burning to be touched and dreading it to the same degree, Kihyun couldn't comprehend how he'd even ended up here with him.

He'd thought about Hyunwoo in a vaguely sexual sense once or twice, back when he'd considered the possible outcomes of them getting together. Hyunwoo struck him as the kind of man who didn't care for sex either way, much less to the point of letting his preferences clash with Kihyun's boundaries. Because of that, Kihyun had counted on the idea that he could enter into the relationship as a virgin and emerge from it as one.

With Hoseok, Kihyun didn't really want to emerge from the relationship as a virgin. He didn't want to emerge from it at all. He wanted to stay, and work things out, and be with Hoseok in every sense of the word.

Brooding over his dilemma, Kihyun barely acknowledged that Hoseok was rolling over, broad back facing Kihyun's front. Shadowy brushstrokes followed the ripples and stretches of the clockwork of his muscles, emphasizing every ridge and taut fold.

Kihyun's body reacted where his smarts lapsed and it went after Hoseok, contouring the curve of his back with his chest. He put one arm under Hoseok's head, pillowing it, while the other circled his waist. Their bodies closed in.

Kihyun took a startled breath.

“Like this?” he stammered, nose filling with the scent of soap and shampoo. His dick was pressed against Hoseok's ass cheek, his erection undeniable and embarrassingly warm. “You like it like this?”

Hoseok gave a hesitant hum.

“Fuck,” uttered Kihyun.

“ _Fucked_ is the correct expression.”

“Fuck,” repeated Kihyun, drawing so near that he and Hoseok formed a single line. He gripped onto Hoseok's waist with more power, hand shaking because of how petite that part of him was compared to the rest of his robust build.

Keeping quiet as Kihyun buried his face in the crook of his neck, Hoseok craned to look over his shoulder.

“Do you mind?” faltered Hoseok.

“Do I mind?” Kihyun intoned after him. “By all means, I totally mind having my dreams come true. I mind it terribly,” he rambled, planting pecks along the side of Hoseok's throat and into the dip of his shoulder. Hoseok eased out a little laugh as Kihyun embraced him tighter, knees hooking under Hoseok's. His cock slid against the back of Hoseok's thigh, its wet head leaving a small drop of precum where it brushed the smooth skin.

Kissing warmth off Hoseok's neck, Kihyun inhaled when Hoseok parted his thighs, allowing his hard-on to slip between them. He locked his legs back together, squishing Kihyun in. He didn't have to press too hard for it to feel like the real thing – or what Kihyun imagined was the real thing. His inner thighs were so toned and hot that Kihyun could have sworn he was inside Hoseok, and the thought made him whimper.

Hoseok shivered, and Kihyun would have missed it if it wasn't for the hug.

“We can keep pretending, if you want to,” muttered Hoseok, a strain in his spine telling that he held himself from glancing over. “We can go on.”

“You mean that we can pretend to do... it?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, intercrural?”

“What's that?”

“Thigh fucking, but fancy.”

Hoseok snorted. The sound turned shy as it wasted away.

“I can't deal with you,” he said, chuckling low in his throat. He turned his head slightly, the cold tip of his ear grazing Kihyun's mouth. “You're amazing, Ki.”

He wasn't. His whole life, Kihyun had been far from it. But Hoseok could make him believe that he meant those words, and that they could be true. For one person in the whole world, he was amazing. Kihyun clamped him tighter.

Not second-guessing anything anymore, Kihyun timidly pushed forward, trying out the feeling of _almost_ fucking. The lotion Hoseok had put on caused Kihyun to glide in until he fully disappeared between those slippery thighs. His hip bones crushed the small of Hoseok's back, and he mewled out a moan as the body in his arms angled against him.

Hoseok's head was a pleasantly heavy burden in the crook of his elbow. Kihyun tentatively reached to run his fingertips through Hoseok's hair, tickling the very ends of his strands because of the awkward position. Burrowing his nose behind Hoseok's ear, Kihyun used his mouth to do what his dying hand couldn't and he left a little kiss in his hair, reprinting it over each lock until Hoseok was thoroughly kissed.

Easing his erection out from between Hoseok's legs and sliding it right in again, Kihyun curled around Hoseok's bigger build. He moved at an uneven pace, Hoseok acting as a counterweight and arching into him with his breathing ragged.

As if searching for the source of those gasps, Kihyun let go of Hoseok's waist and grasped onto his chest. He splayed his hand over Hoseok's pecs as far as he could, desperate to hold onto them at the same time. He soon gave up, and, playing with Hoseok's nipple, he covered his left pec. The already sturdy muscle tensed up in his palm.

A groan hitched in Hoseok's parted mouth. He craned his neck, asking for kisses without saying it out loud, and Kihyun shifted to give him everything he wanted. The kiss hurt, but they both closed their eyes and put up with the tension until they couldn't take it anymore and broke off. Hoseok kept his eyes closed.

Spurred by the sight, Kihyun fucked into him with more force. The rhythm stayed the same, Kihyun's hips rocking in sleepwaves. It was like an unseen crust of stardust and thickening concrete had fallen over him, setting and slowing him down; his motions, his need. But whenever he thrust between Hoseok's thighs, there was a shred more power to it than before. A shred more intensity.

Moaning in bird-notes, quiet but straight into Hoseok's ear, Kihyun cradled him as gently as he could. His head. His chest. Hoseok was glass and silk and honey in his grasp; he was everything elusive but physical, everything that dripped and slipped. Their ankles inwoven, their hands interlocked, they moved together to meet in the middle.

Hoseok whined then, and Kihyun lost it.

“Can I – can I touch you?” he panted out.

“Yes. Yes, yes, _yes_ ,” keened Hoseok, already leading Kihyun's hand down and closing it around his own hard-on. His calloused fingers snaked around Kihyun's and tugged, forcing the smaller boy to seize him fast and work him rough.

Unlike Kihyun's thrust, the tempo was after one thing only: coming, and coming hard.

Hoseok clenched his thighs, his body contorting and leaning into Kihyun in ways in which they hadn't clicked into each other yet. In ways that wrenched a deep groan out of Kihyun. Rubbing his face over Kihyun's forearm, Hoseok choked out a sob, stopped rolling his hips, and spilled over both of their hands.

The suddenness of it sent a shock down Kihyun's stomach, and he came right after, realizing with a tinge of shame and satisfaction alike that it was Hoseok's orgasm that triggered his.

Air thinned around them. Kihyun drank in the scent of Hoseok's skin, eyes shut and embrace as unyielding as a vice. He thrashed against Hoseok's back as pleasure poured from the pit of his stomach out, surging through him in volumes and thick waves.

Hoseok pressed his legs together, strangling Kihyun in between in what reminded him of the inside of a lubed up fist. He gasped several times, pushing Hoseok's thigh off.

“Too much,” he murmured, repeating it over and over, over and _overwhelmed_.

Grunting, Hoseok put his thighs apart. The exhale Kihyun let out could slice glass in half.

Hoseok slowly relaxed, looked down, and laughed at something. Upon hooking his chin over Hoseok's shoulder, Kihyun found out what was so funny. The head of his cock peeked out where Hoseok's thighs parted, scarcely visible, like a curious little thing still upright to pay tribute to Hoseok with all his perfections and imperfections.

“What?” challenged Kihyun in an undertone.

“It looks adorable,” declared Hoseok and, with a coo, he _tickled_ it.

Kihyun rutted against him. “Do that again and I'll come all over you.”

“You kind of already did.”

That.

That he did.

Clamming up, Kihyun nuzzled at Hoseok, nose tracing the underside of his jaw and breathing in how nice he smelled. Summery.

The fucked up thing was, even if this didn't last, he wouldn't go a single summer from now on without thinking of Hoseok.

Kihyun's arm had fallen asleep while they had fake-fucked. They chuckled as he stiffly pulled it from underneath Hoseok's head. They chuckled again as Kihyun sneaked his arm back once he shook the numbness out of it, clearly not having learned his lesson. Being a pillow was nicer than being comfy, though, so Kihyun resigned himself to waking up with tingles in his limbs, or with no life in them at all.

“I've heard of spooning that leads to forking, but never about forking that leads to spooning,” commented Kihyun as he copied the curve of Hoseok's body with his slimmer one, clinging to him tight.

“One more pun and I'll knife you,” bubbled Hoseok. He'd come completely undone in the bone-crushing backhug, and Kihyun was able to pull and haul him as he wanted until he settled them in a cosy position. They were a mess of entangled limbs and clutching hands, a mess of pecks and whispers. But it worked.

“You won't. You like me,” retorted Kihyun, his freckled face blushing. “For whatever reason.”

“I told you the reason.”

“Did you really –” began Kihyun, pacing himself so he wouldn't sound too eager. “...Fall for me the first day we met?”

“More like the first minute.”

“Really?”

“Don't sound so scandalized. I'm telling you, it was the socks.” Bursting out as Kihyun nudged him from behind, Hoseok lifted his meaty arm to cup his cheek. “No, it was the way you marched across the court like you owned it. Like you came to tell us something important that would change everyone's lives.” He paused, savouring the warmth seeping from Kihyun. “And it did.”

A small chill scuttled down Kihyun's spine, a spider of guilt and glass. What he'd planned to say back then couldn't have been further from what Hoseok believed to be the truth.

“Why didn't you say anything?” asked Kihyun. His voice must have grown tired of him and moved out because it barely brimmed over his lips. “We could've been together from the start.”

“Because I just wanted to get to know you. And because you seemed serious about Hyunwoo.” As an afterthought, Hoseok caressed Kihyun's forearm and began to rethink his own statement. “It would have been nice to skip the whole pining after a guy who's pining after someone else phase, not gonna lie, but it honestly wasn't so bad. I got to be with you, even if we weren't dating. This way it feels... cleaner, you know? More genuine. More fair. It's better than forever wondering whether I've stolen someone else's future boyfriend.”

Kihyun croaked something out, an _oh_ or something similar-sounding.

The amount of goodness Hoseok hid in that humongous body of his would never cease to amaze Kihyun. He was ruthless in contrast, and the equally ruthless epiphany did nothing to take away the vague rush of regret filling him, festering in his gut.

He wished the whole situation was really as clean as Hoseok fancied.

Enclosed in an eerie kind of silence, Kihyun thought of Hyunwoo and the bet, and of what Hoseok would say after finding out the real reason behind why Kihyun had joined the team. He had to tell him – was going to tell him – but not now. Now it was too fresh even for Kihyun, how stupid he'd been. How... selfish.

But there was one more selfish thing Kihyun had to do before tomorrow came.

“Hyung?” he mumbled.

Hoseok hummed.

“There's something I need you to do for me,” said Kihyun, cagey.

“Anything, Ki.”

Somehow, the simplicity of his answer made everything one more degree worse.

He braced himself as he hugged Hoseok closer and opened his mouth to speak.

 


	12. Cookies and Cockies

As nearsighted as Kihyun was, it was virtually impossible to overlook the clusters of students and camp employees and coaches streaming through the court and the surrounding grassed area. The crowds moved together and apart, left and right. They went to and fro in a worm-swarming disorder, yelling out instructions, shielding their eyes from the sun. The archers had come to watch the fencers spar. The tennists were in the middle of a friendly match with their soon-to-be championship opponents. The Sungbook-gu volleyball team sweated their souls out as they went on with their training, concentrating with religious intent like it was some sort of ceremony.

All in all, the campsite was nothing if not alive, and Kihyun wished with his whole chest that _he_ wasn't.

Death must have been better than this.

Anything must have been better than this.

Anxiety rolling its thorny tongue over the tips of his spine, Kihyun clutched the towel hanging around his hips. Dressed in nothing but that peculiar loin cloth, he reckoned he resembled an underfed version of Brendan Fraser in _George of the Jungle_. He had to be a sad sight. Sad in the sense that, unfortunately, everyone except him was royally amused.

Changkyun chuckled, flicking the hem of Kihyun's towel. It flew up threateningly.

Kihyun moved to swat him away. Then he thought better of it. He was in a room with the Devil and his whisperer. Once he let go of the towel, he might never reunite with it again.

Mouth wrinkling, Kihyun looked at Minhyuk. The Devil in question graced him with a lazy grin and a click of the phone.

“Stop taking pictures of me,” demanded Kihyun.

“I have to. One day you'll be old and too cramped to run anymore, naked or not, and you will want to relive these beautiful memories.”

“I doubt it,” Kihyun gritted out, briefly shutting his eyes as Minhyuk snapped another picture of him, the flash going off and blinding him.

There was no point in fuming since all it did was amuse the two further. Kihyun set his jaw and peeked out of the restroom door one last time. He noted with a pang that the amount of people milling around outside hadn't diminished one bit. Their blurry figures filled the space between the restroom and the row of cabins at the other side of the campsite as a thick people-forest. Waving limbs imitated the dance of butterflies and dragonflies visiting flowers on their way.

“You seem pretty shy, hyung,” remarked Changkyun.

“You think so?” growled Kihyun, holding the towel in a deadly grip. He craned his neck to see Hoseok's familiar face and found him there, a totem in the distance. His features were unclear, but his build offered a sense of security even from afar.

How nice would it be, to take cover behind Hoseok's bulk already. To hop into his arms and nestle there.

Changkyun's voice brought Kihyun back from his second-long reverie.

“Yeah. _Surprisingly_ shy for a siren like you.”

Kihyun flushed. “I'm not a siren!”

“You are such a siren that Nightwish composed a song about you,” simpered Changkyun. “I think the whole camp heard you yesterday.”

“It looks like Kihyun's an exhibitionist only when it comes to singing,” drawled Minhyuk.

“Or, when it comes to _coming_ ,” supplied Changkyun with a toothy grin.

Minhyuk snorted and bent over to take a snap of Kihyun's chicken legs from the single most unflattering angle he could find.

“You're the worst fucking friends,” declared Kihyun, pinching his thighs together.

“We're the greatest friends on earth. It's you who's your own worst enemy,” said Minhyuk without batting an eye, zooming in on the hair on Kihyun's calves.

Kihyun took the jab in silence because, frankly, it was one of those bitter-to-swallow truths he needed to hear and had no ammunition to argue against. He'd made his own mess, and now he had a lot of fixing ahead of him to make the mess slightly smaller.

He thought of Hoseok. Pictured him standing over at the far end of the court, checking the time, looking out for Kihyun. The sweet giant had said yes to Kihyun's request without even knowing what was going on.

Breathing in deep in hopes that he might breathe his terror out, Kihyun threw a glance at his friends. At the handle. At his hands. Without another word, he chucked the towel and bolted out of the door. He managed to slam it shut, so the first few pictures Minhyuk tried to take of him only captured the crackly, colourless wood.

Hot air sluiced his mouth and lungs like a swig of tasteless tea. Kihyun cupped his crotch, searching the site for the easiest path through the scattered crowd. The balls of his feet thundered over the lawn. Nobody had noticed him yet. He zipped past the first few figures, choking on his own heartbeat. The people he'd just passed stood in a circle with their backs to him, immersed in a talk.

Then, a lilting jungle call caught up to him. The sound created a wave of movement as everyone's head rose up towards the source of Changkyun's Tarzan yell.

“Is he fucking _naked_?” shrieked someone.

Kihyun boiled in his own skin. Far ahead, Hoseok put his hand up to block out the sun, staring. The Sungbook-gu coach whistled like he was announcing a foul. Shrieks bloomed out of people's mouths when Kihyun flashed past them, as though he was a fierce spring pushing the sounds out of them by some natural force.

Just as Kihyun neared the volleyball court in order to cross it, the Sungbook-gu players parting for him like he was Moses, he saw Bobby straighten up and fire a swift spike his way.

Being the libero he was, Kihyun whirled to the side, let go of his cock, and sent the swooshing volleyball flying. Which, in hindsight, hadn't been his brightest decision.

Other things were flying at that point. A rush of breeze hit Kihyun everywhere and he thought to himself, _fuck it_ , and sped towards Hoseok with his junk jumping.

The laughter was ear-splitting. It taunted him to sprint faster, feet hurting as they fell hard on the uneven lawn and concrete.

When he finally reached Hoseok, who stood there wide-eyed with the towel poised as a bullfighter, Kihyun ran straight into his arms. Hoseok wrapped Kihyun up. He didn't even pause to ask questions. One arm still around Kihyun, he started to run too. They got into the cabin flushed and hot-bodied and clutching each other.

The sound of laughter and voices only died down as the door fell shut behind them.

Nobody spoke for a second.

Huffing, Hoseok threw an owlish look at Kihyun, and when he saw that the younger boy was alright, just pretty steamed up, he broke in half and hooted. Hands pressing at his hips, he wheezed in and out, laughter lines cutting around his nose.

“Oi!” growled Kihyun, then gulped. His pulse was chiming through his throat, multiplied and many-layered, like he had more than one pulse and more than one throat.

What he got in reply was another bout of laughter. Hoseok had to turn his back to Kihyun's pitiful, toweled self to calm down. Wiping his eyes, and with his shoulders suspiciously shaking, he went to rummage through Kihyun's bag to pull out something for him to wear.

When he turned back around and took in how sour-faced Kihyun stood there, trying to look tall with the piece of fabric tied around his body as a toga, he lost it again.

“Will you stop sometime in this century?” snapped Kihyun with a light whine to his voice. It could have been the toga, but at that very moment he felt like Caesar being butchered by Brutus. He slumped.

“I'm sorry, Ki,” hiccuped Hoseok. “Oh my god...”

“There's nothing like a supportive boyfriend,” said Kihyun icily, crossing his arms.

“I fully support your decision to grace this world with your nudity.”

Kihyun just groaned.

He supposed he deserved the cheek. He unfolded his arms and let them sag at his sides. As soon as Hoseok sensed Kihyun give up, he went on with a quaint grin curled up at the corners.

“I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my head,” he chuckled, gentle creases livening up his eyes. “You, haring off and whirling up dust with your tiny feet like there's no tomorrow. Your cute cock and balls jumping.”

Kihyun sprung up to his full height again. “ _Cute_?”

“The cutest cock I've seen,” confirmed Hoseok as he handed Kihyun a pair of shorts. The creases at the corners of his eyes dipped deeper and Kihyun would have to be either blind or stupid not to realize how pleased Hoseok must have been with himself. Not that it took a lot to provoke Kihyun – Hoseok was simply such a sweet soul that he hadn't truly tried it before.

Kihyun never would have thought that Hoseok was the type of guy to get a rise out of someone on purpose. It was... it was a little bit hot, in a frustrating way.

 _Cute_ , of all things?

He shimmied into those shorts, the waistband slapping his skin as he let go of it with more vehemence than needed. His scowl set so deep that even the finest sculptor used to stone and bronze wouldn't be able to chisel it away and smooth his face down.

But Hoseok could. He reached out and touched Kihyun's stomach where it creased a little. He splayed his fingers and ran them down on each side of Kihyun's belly button, creating a tiny circle. He stopped shy of the waistband and looked up.

“You're cute all over.”

Kihyun's tongue dried up. “You better think so.”

“I don't just think so. It's a sourced fact.”

He had no idea why, but he blushed worse than during his penalty run. A hard marble rose up his windpipe and rolled into his mouth – a need to say _remember this. Remember the way you see me now. Remember the socks_. _I need you to remember all of this when we're done talking._ Because talking was something they really needed to do, and Kihyun wasn't sure of the outcome. He just didn't think that he should postpone it any longer.

The embarrassing penalty had a single upside. It gave him a segue to come clean to Hoseok.

Hanging his head, Kihyun pretended to search for his jersey. He threw it on when he discovered the dusty thing under the bed. Blushed and barefoot, he padded over to Hoseok, whose mouth kept quirking up at the corners. His laughter lines were still there, breaking the porcelain of his complexion.

“Can I give you a peck?” mumbled Kihyun, his soul small inside him. “Just a little one?”

“Why just a little one?”

To make sure that you won't regret it too much in a minute.

“Can I?” he asked again.

Hoseok pecked him first, leaning in with all his warmth. It took everything in Kihyun not to reach for him and bring him closer by the biceps. He kept the promise he had made to himself and pulled away after a small peck, brushing his nose against the side of Hoseok's nose.

“I need to tell you something,” he murmured.

“Tell me what?”

Kihyun shifted his weight. Tugging at Hoseok's wrist to get him to sit down, he realized that he could be about to root out the part of Hoseok which was so open and kind to everyone; that fondness for people which had been pulling him through life and had given him those laughter lines in the first place.

They dropped on the floor, their backs against the bed. Carefully untangling their hands, Kihyun unstuck his lips to speak.

 

~

 

A slanted square of sunlight crept over the floor. It looked molten. A chirpless cicada skirted the border between the light and shadow, its folded, filmy wings half-flooded by yellow-white rays. Hoseok sat beside Kihyun as chirpless as the insect. He was staring at his hands.

Sometimes during the talk, Kihyun had turned towards him to see his face, but the longer he looked at Hoseok now, the clearer it was dawning on him that Hoseok wasn't looking back. He had been peering Kihyun's way less and less until he'd finally taken in the rest of the story with his head down and his ears lightly, _lightly_ moving to the sound of Kihyun's voice.

There were no voices raised in conversation anymore. Not that it had been _a_ conversation, really. Hoseok had barely talked, soaking up everything in silence aside from the occasional “What?” and “Wait, but...”

From Yoongi to Taemin. From Taemin to the bet. From the bet till today. He'd taken the confession the way that the earth takes rain – seemingly without effort or effect, but darkening and swelling up all the same. Growing soggy at its core. Ridden with worms.

Kihyun inhaled.

“Say something,” he whispered.

Hoseok's head snapped up. He gave Kihyun a startled smile that didn't reach his eyes. The smile he would give him whenever Kihyun would miss the ball and botch the score. The it's-alright-although-it-really-isn't smile.

Drawing his knees up, Kihyun once more shifted in his seat so he could face Hoseok full-on.

“Are you angry?”

“No. No, I'm – I'm not angry, Ki.”

“But you're upset with me.”

“I'm not upset either. I mean it. I'm just...” he trailed off.

“You can be honest,” piped up Kihyun. “I'd be upset with me. I created all this mess. I took Hyunwoo as this – this prize, and for what. For pride. To heal my huge ego.”

Hoseok put his weight against the frame of the bed. The wood gave a slow groan. “I kind of get it? The wounded pride part. I never really...” He went quiet, thinking. Moving his mouth to find the words that wouldn't come to him of their own accord.

Kihyun didn't dare to interrupt him, so he sat small and silent and watched Hoseok work his thoughts.

“I never went through the same, until you happened,” said Hoseok suddenly. “I haven't been with _thousands_ of guys, but the ones I dated before you would be the ones to try and impress me, not the other way around. Until you, I didn't have to work for it. I didn't have to question whether I was someone's type. Whether I was good-looking.” He flushed. “Fuck, I must sound so full of myself. Like I'm rubbing it in.”

“No,” Kihyun rushed to say. “No, you don't. It's just the truth. You're...”

They locked eyes, then broke the contact.

“It didn't feel good, to be overlooked,” conceded Hoseok as he continued. He picked at a thread in Jooheon's pillow to distract himself. “I think it would have hurt real bad if this kept happening to me with every guy I fell for. So I get it. I get that you had to prove this to yourself. And Minhyuk. And about just anyone who's ever treated you like you're something less.”

Kihyun swallowed.

“But?”

Unseen, the cicada crawled a few more centimetres ahead. The layer of sunlight still lay heavy where Kihyun had last seen it.

“But there's this one thing,” began Hoseok cagily. “I don't think it's something you could've predicted, but it's bothering me. To tell you the truth, it's been bothering me ever since you told me that you don't _really_ like Hyunwoo. When you took the challenge and started chasing after him, you didn't like him yet. And I...”

Kihyun didn't say anything to that. He had an inkling where this was going.

“I remember thinking – what if you never fell for Hyunwoo at all? What if he started having feelings for you, but you couldn't get to the same point, no matter how much you wanted to? What if it was all perfect, but loveless?”

It wouldn't have been loveless, Kihyun thought to himself. But only because he would have loved Hoseok.

He would have ended up with Hyunwoo while loving his best friend.

Biting into his lower lip from the inside, Kihyun put his head in between his knees. He breathed out through his nose. He was good at outstaring people, even people who were right. He was almost shameless at times because he knew what it meant to be inferior, and that had made him into someone who wished to seem superior at all costs. But now, he couldn't even glance Hoseok's way.

“You're right,” he muttered, muffled.

“And Hyunwoo wouldn't have been the only one getting hurt because of this, you know. It would've been Hyungwon too.”

Kihyun cringed.

He hadn't even considered this. If he'd gotten his way, he would have separated them, without knowing that he was toying with two people at once. He would've ruined their chance to be together.

“I'm so fucking shitty,” he moaned.

Two rough-to-the-touch hands lifted his head up. Hoseok was boring into him. “You're not shitty.”

“ _Fucking_ shitty.”

“Kihyun,” entreated Hoseok, eyebrows sloping up in a compassionate expression.

Fuck it all. Hoseok was sad for him.

For him, of all people.

“Don't. Don't give me that look, Seok. I'm not saying this for you to feel sorry for me. I don't want you to. What I did was shitty – no excuses. It was shitty, and I'm shitty, and please just let me get this off my chest because I can't stand that shitty shittiness sitting there like it owns the place –” he stopped, choked up. His face screwed up.

“You're not shitty,” repeated Hoseok, shaking Kihyun's head a little like it was a poppy head and the seeds inside needed a serious reordering. “What you did... was kind of shitty. A little bit. But –”

“See?” whined Kihyun.

“But that doesn't define you as a person,” said Hoseok hotly.

“It does. It _does_. Because before I started to play with people's feelings, I was someone who deserved this. You. I deserved to be liked back by someone like you for a change. Or at least I think I did. But now I don't. I don't deserve Hyunwoo and I sure as fuck don't deserve you.”

He sniffed hard. He couldn't believe it. He was the fuckboy now.

“That's for me to decide, though,” said Hoseok quietly. He rubbed at Kihyun's chin to wipe off the miniature meadow of dimples that had appeared there, as it always did when he sulked or when he was close to crying. “So you've made a mistake. Who hasn't?”

“This wasn't just a small mistake. I really could have made everyone miserable. Not just Hyunwoo and myself, but also Hyungwon and... and you.”

“Yeah. You could've,” whispered Hoseok. He circled Kihyun's wrinkled up chin with a thumb. “And you almost did. But Ki, if you were so shitty, you wouldn't give a damn. You wouldn't have told me anything. You would've left me in the dark. You wouldn't be sorry at all.”

“I really am sorry,” said Kihyun, and he meant it. “I'm so sorry.”

Hoseok didn't say anything. He gently worked Kihyun's face to erase any anguish from it, rubbing at his dimples, tapping his jawline. He craned to sniff the top of Kihyun's head and then pressed his lips where his hair parted.

“What are you doing?” mumbled Kihyun.

“Forgiving you for being a little bit of a fuckboy.”

“You shouldn't be forgiving me. You should be pissed.”

“I would be if I had found out from someone else. But here's the thing, Ki. Even though you messed up, you told me. You're not trying to pretend you didn't or blame anyone else.” He pecked him again. “I was right about you.” He pecked him _again_. He nosed the spot that he'd kissed. “Thank you for telling me.”

“But I... but...”

“Shush.”

“But I don't deserve this,” mumbled Kihyun into Hoseok's jersey. “Not anymore.”

There was a brief silence. The cicada must have grown uncomfortable because it finally chirped.

Musing, Hoseok buried the tip of his nose in Kihyun's hair. He pushed a loose strand aside.

“Well, then I guess you'll have to work for it.”

Kihyun blinked. He pulled back and peered up at Hoseok.

“You mean... you mean I should... clear my conscience somehow? Should I tell Hyunwoo? And apologize?”

“No.” Hoseok patted him. “You would just confuse the poor guy. Best to leave him alone.”

Right. Kihyun looked around as if hunting for an answer. “What do you think I should do then? Wait. Wait! I know! I should donate blood. To cleanse my karma.”

Hoseok stifled a snort.

“You could do that.”

“Plasma too!”

“Sure,” smiled Hoseok. “And when you're done with that and all cleansed and cute from the inside out, you could try to set things straight with us. You could start working on _me_.”

“On you? As in...”

“I've been courted by boys before. But I haven't been courted by you.” Hoseok grew shy. He glanced to the side. “It's one way to earn me back, just saying.”

Kihyun stared.

And stared.

“You want me to court you?”

Hoseok gave a shrug.

“You want me to carry your bag and hold the door open for you and bring you bento boxes?”

Hoseok gave another shrug.

“You want me to kiss up to you before I can kiss you again?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Hoseok, giving one last sheepish shrug.

“And you'll forgive me?” asked Kihyun, unsure. He shuffled closer to Hoseok. “You'll boyfriend me again?”

“You're still my boyfriend,” said Hoseok softly. “But you're on probation.”

“For how long?” he croaked. “Until... until the summer break? So we can spend the holiday together?”

“The summer break? That's too long!”

“You have to be strict!”

“The only thing I have to be is kissed. Often. All the time. By you. So screw that,” pouted Hoseok.

Kihyun fidgeted. “How about the championship?” A lightbulb went off in his head. “Wait. I've got it.”

“What is it?” Hoseok got big-eyed.

“I'll make sure that we win the game when the championship comes,” said Kihyun, lips tight in a determined line. “And when we take the prize, that's when _I_ win _you_. I'll win you back.”

“Ki. You already have me.”

“I know,” he murmured. Slowly, he let his hands tiptoe over to Hoseok's and cover them. “I just want to show you that I'm really worth it. That I'm worthy of you.”

“You're making this a pride thing again.”

“Yes, but – but not for my sake. It's not so I can be proud of myself. It's so you can be proud of me. So you can look at me and think, okay, he's a little bit dumb and he's a runt and all, but he keeps his promises and he wants me to be happy. I can date him.” He rubbed Hoseok's knuckles. “I can give him a chance even though I'm completely out of his league.”

“Me? Out of your league?”

“You are. You're out of everyone's league.”

Hoseok seemed to swell. He smiled for himself and gazed down to where Kihyun was rubbing his hands with his thumbs. When Hoseok looked like this, he reminded Kihyun of a sweet cloud.

“You're starting strong,” said Hoseok. “Flatter me some more and I might overlook that you're already holding my hands when you're still supposed to be wooing me.”

Curling into himself, Kihyun stopped touching Hoseok so fast that one could say his skin was on fire, or Hoseok was fire himself. Their eyes rose at the same time, and they watched each other for a while, and there was a beat of tension washed away by light chuckles. Two voices blended into one.

Kihyun was lucky that he had quite some experience with courting huge, handsome guys.

He was ready for this.

 

~

 

In retrospect, Kihyun hadn't been quite ready for this.

When he'd nodded to the offer to win Hoseok back – eagerly, basically basking in it in the afterglow of the easily earned forgiveness – Kihyun hadn't even begun to fathom how nerve-wrecking the wooing of one Lee Hoseok would prove to be.

Not that he still didn't enjoy every bit of it, because he did, sweaty palms and a quickened heartbeat included. It was just that Hoseok enjoyed being sought and chased after so much that Kihyun could sometimes barely keep up.

He was used to courting guys, partly because there wasn't anyone to court _him_ and because his self-confidence had always been slightly higher than his self-consciousness. The only thing that could stop Yoo Kihyun from doing what he'd taken into his head was Yoo Kihyun himself. He'd also always been slightly more stubborn than he was rational, which was why he'd won so many times in his life despite being what Changkyun called a loser.

(Nobody had to know that, sometimes, Kihyun's ego ran on an empty tank.)

In short, if there was a perfect person to charm Hoseok in the end, it had to be Kihyun. He had the experience, the know-how, and the shameless streak that prompted him to try over and over, regardless of whether all he got in return was the smallest of smiles – or no smile at all.

Nine times out of ten, Hoseok would smile at him. He would give Kihyun all kinds of smiles. The curled up ones that looked like he was hiding something. The squishy ones that softened his every feature. The big, open ones, breaking into outbursts of laughter whenever Kihyun would land the cheesiest line of the century and publicly render himself a great, greasy fool, just to hear that happy gurgle.

He did everything to see Hoseok's eye-smiles. He woke up at the ass of dawn to gently rouse Hoseok with a cup of tea ready. He walked him to the court, skipping at Hoseok's pace and holding his water bottle. He modestly turned away when they showered together. He picked flowers for him, but soon switched to picking berries instead because Hoseok was always half-sad to receive something that would wilt.

(And he looked too lovely with his teeth purpled by blueberries.)

In the evening, Kihyun took Hoseok out and splashed with him by the river, and sang to him when the protein muncher pouted and pleaded to hear this song or another. For him, Kihyun gladly turned into that siren that Changkyun had tauntingly called him.

Not that being called a siren could pester Kihyun anymore. Changkyun had other things to call him nowadays.

(“Now who's a nudist?” the cheeky child had grinned at Kihyun after he'd dared to set a single toe out of the cabin. Changkyun had already been waiting sprawled at the stairs with Minhyuk crouching beside him and shuffling through his camera roll.)

Kihyun supposed _he_ was the nudist.

A nudist whose relationship with Hoseok had become completely chaste. No nudity. No making out sessions either. No nothing, even though just days before, they'd cuddled together naked and Kihyun had slipped it between his thighs.

He didn't mind slowing down. He missed the contact he'd grown so used to – missed being touched – but that had nothing to do with dicks and orgasms or simply just kisses. It had everything to do with aching for Hoseok's warm hands brushing his. Rubbing his dimples. Ruffling his hair.

(It had everything to do with Hoseok being _there_ , touchable, and with Kihyun being too timid to at least ask for what they'd had as friends.)

The summer camp came to a close like that: with Kihyun breathlessly running after Hoseok at any given opportunity, following him with sparkly eyes, and yearning to curl up behind him.

Into him.

With him.

On the way back to Seoul, Kihyun let Hoseok have the window seat and lent him a shoulder to sleep on. He secretly beamed when Hoseok pressed tight to him, nuzzling closer with each hiccup of the bus. He lifted his eyes from time to time to see if Hoseok's eyebrows crinkled up in discomfort, and when they did, Kihyun leaned and murmured sweet nothings to him to ease his sleep.

He walked Hoseok home when the bus gave a groan in front of the school and stopped. He could barely feel his hands afterwards from dragging his bags across the suburbs and back.

(One eye-smile later, Kihyun felt other things. Fluttery things. Chest-gripping things that gave his step a giddy spring on his way home.)

He slept easy that night.

He woke up to missing Hoseok with every molecule he was made of. Since the summer camp was over and Kihyun was back at his house, he had nobody to bring tea to first thing in the morning.

Slapping some BB cream on his face at eight o'clock, he sent Hoseok a good morning selca, pretending that the teacup he was holding was the focus on the picture. Hoseok sent a selca back. Cropped from the shoulders up. With no shirt on.

Kihyun spent the rest of the day walking around the house soulless and praying for Monday to come.

Courting Hoseok in Seoul proved to be easier and harder at the same time. Easier because there were no Changkyuns to tell him he was a lovesick airhead. Harder because now he had the whole school and the entire capital city of Korea watching him be a lovesick airhead. An airhead who was absolutely happy in his seemingly pointless pursuit.

He had older jocks sneer at him on the daily when they saw him waiting by the classroom, _again_ , with his knuckles blushing because he was holding a hot bento box. He had to endure Hoseok's little brother's remarks about Kihyun “doing doggy paddle behind the missed boat before Hoseok let him do doggy style.”

Kihyun sourly appreciated the pun and he took Hoseok's friends' snorts with a poker face. He took it all in stride, and he kept waiting on Hoseok, and longing for him, and bringing him things that weren't flowers.

For the most part, his perseverance (and, according to Hoseok, his pretty face) worked. Hoseok wouldn't text him first and he wouldn't hand out his affection as candidly anymore, but Kihyun could sense that he was holding it back. He could recognize it in the way Hoseok sometimes lit up at seeing Kihyun in the hallway, homemade lunch clutched in a timid grip. In the way he stilled rather than sped up at the sight of Kihyun's flannel jacket.

One thing that Kihyun had failed to account for when he'd agreed to work for Hoseok's attention, though, was that the beautiful beef was no stranger to these sort of rituals either. He'd had guys take him on late night car rides, drive him out of town, and pay for fancy dinners. He'd dated college guys and trust fund kids and bodybuilders. Guys with thick chests and thick wallets.

All Kihyun had was his rattly bicycle, rusty and rotten in places because he hadn't aired it since the seventh grade, and a very modest monthly sum to buy himself a snack and a yakult during lunch break.

Said yakult had become his daily sacrifice to Hoseok. Kihyun couldn't give him expensive overnight trips and VIP cinema tickets, but he could paint him pretty pots for cacti and he could proofread Hoseok's college entrance essays and he sure as heck could feed him yakult.

He wasn't anything if not innovative. After all, he was the guy who'd joined a volleyball team just to woo Hyunwoo.

Still, sometimes Hoseok played his role so well that Kihyun wondered whether he really even had a chance with him. Whether Kihyun's puppy ways and puppy eyes amused him, but had no power to win him over. Kihyun felt it all the more sharply when he compared himself to the nameless shadows of Hoseok's exes who had more experience and more money and more muscles, and much more right to call Hoseok theirs.

What Kihyun had that others didn't, however, was a pair of small, soft hands and a rustly stack of his grandmother's recipes tied together with a baby blue ribbon. He kept them tucked in his bookcase beside the horizontal line of Jane Austens and Amy Tans and the odd poetry collection here and there, out of his relatives' reach because he was by far the only one in the house who didn't end up making a bonfire when trying to bake.

The recipes were an ass-saving asset in his plan.

His eyebrows drew together in intent.

He patted a handful of flour over his palms and, clapping, fluffed it up in a white, scattering cloud. His sleeves were rolled up and bunched up above his elbows. His glasses had steamed up because of the heat rising from the first batch of cookies he'd pulled out of the oven. While the tray full of golden hearts was cooling off, Kihyun rolled and cut out another clump of dough.

(“Don't laugh!” he'd barked at his sister-in-law when she'd peeked over his shoulder and saw the embarrassing shape.)

Hands pale, mouth parted, he carefully placed the heart-shaped pieces of dough on a tray one by one. He checked the temperature of the first batch with the back of his hand. Perfect. It would be cold enough to decorate when he was done making the frosting, and then –

He cringed.

Panic flushed him.

He started to open and close every cabinet in the too-big, too-sterile kitchen.

No vanilla.

Running his whitened hands through his hair, he whirled around, searching, clambering with the cabinet doors. He wasn't truly looking anymore, though, because he already knew the ingredient wasn't there. He would have had to buy it first.

“I can't fucking believe I forgot to get vanilla when I'm making grandma's vanilla buttercream frosting,” whined Kihyun to no one in particular.

But, as always, his pain didn't go unheard and unridiculed.

“You're smart sometimes, Ki. But when it comes to boys, you can be so chaotic it hurts,” said Taehee from her spot at the counter. She was dipping the tip of her finger into a small bowl of leftover powdered sugar. She licked it. “Like a rat running around in a self-made little labyrinth.”

A siren, a nudist, and a rat. Kihyun was at his limit. He only kept his cool because he knew that snapping at his sister-in-law was never a good idea, and doubly so when he needed something from her.

“I'll give you my pocket money if you fetch it for me,” he offered meekly.

“Why would I need your pocket money? I'm a married woman with a job. Your few coins won't exactly buy me a summer villa, will they.”

“Please. Please, noona? I can't just walk away now, I have to watch the oven,” said Kihyun. He was ready to link his hands together like one of those statues of begging hermits he'd seen at the shrine his family would go to on New Year's Eve.

She shrugged. “Just turn the oven off for a minute.”

“I can't. I'll be late for the bus and I'll be late for the championship and then Hoseok will never ever date me for real. I won't even be on probation anymore, I'll be in a dating prison and he will never look at me and –”

She put a spoonful of sugar in his mouth, expression darkening as she absorbed the stream of teenage stress Kihyun had just thrown her way.

“I don't know who this Hoseok is, but he should run away from dumbasses who bake cookies at six in the morning when they have to catch a bus at eight.”

Kihyun's chin wrinkled up.

Ever since the bet, he'd been realizing he was less witty than he'd fancied himself to be. When it came to certain things, he was just a plain stupid boy.

Really, a chaotic rat.

He stared at his sister-in-law, and she stared at him, and then Kihyun grew terrified of her stare because it began to sparkle.

“What?” he squeezed out.

“Remember when you wouldn't let me try that one pretty hairstyle on you?” asked Taehee coyly.

“I let you dye my hair, though!” he bristled up. He wasn't going to be blackmailed. He still had his faded out grey strands to testify for how good of a brother-in-law he was. (Or, how bullied he was by his brother's wife.)

“But you wouldn't let me curl it,” she said, and she pursed her lips.

Kihyun ignored the sensation that someone had uncorked his stomach. Being a hairdresser was an occupational hazard – not for Taehee, but for him. Since Kihyun's brother worked at an office and their mother kept her hair stylishly short, chopped even shorter than her sons, Kihyun's sister-in-law had nobody to practice on.

Nobody but Kihyun.

He heard a funeral march go off inside his head as he imagined himself with curly hair.

“If I...” he trailed off. He thought of Hoseok's smiles and thighs and of the promise he'd given him. “If I let you curl my hair when I'm back from the match, would you please go and fetch me some vanilla?”

“Not after the match. Now.”

“We don't have time now!” protested Kihyun. Chills climbed under his rolled up sleeves and licked the undersides of his arms.

“I don't trust you to let me do it when you have the cookies and the guy in your pocket,” snipped Taehee.

“He wouldn't even fit into my pocket! He's huge!”

His sister-in-law snickered.

Kihyun blushed.

“Well, you always bite off more than you can chew,” she commented and moved to turn away.

“Wait,” blurted Kihyun. He grabbed her and spun her back around. “I'll do it, I mean it! But there's no time now. I have to catch the bus and you have that appointment with the happy bride and –”

“Please. It's hair, not nuclear physics. All I need to do is wet your hair a little, put the rollers in, and give you a quick blow-dry. You can decorate the cookies while I do it.”

Kihyun chewed on his lip.

The time ticked.

Taehee dramatically toyed with her wristwatch. She tapped the delicate glass.

“Okay!” he burst out. “Okay. Screw it – I'll do it. But be quick about it? _Please_?”

“I'll be quicker than a young love.”

Kihyun's mouth turned upside down at the quip. “You better at least make me look cute.”

“You're always cute, Ki.”

He gave a defeated growl.

He goddamn hoped that the day wouldn't end in defeat too.


	13. Libero, Part Two

“I look like a fucking turnip!” seethed Kihyun.

Changkyun's sleepy chuckle confirmed the statement and put a stamp on it. The camera shook as Kihyun hurried to get to the bus, but despite the earthquake quality of his camerawork, Changkyun could see the damage Taehee had done all too clearly. Otherwise he wouldn't have burst out so soul-screechingly loud the second Kihyun had facetimed him.

“A small sheep is more like it,” said Changkyun, a lazy grin showing off his teeth. He was still in bed – or, knowing Changkyun, he'd only just climbed in it. With him, one couldn't be sure. “A cuddly sheep. A little lamb.”

“No. A turnip.”

“Turnips are smooth and round.”

“But the top part is all frizzly.”

“You're not even frizzly. You're just fluffy.”

Fluffy, and freckly, and probably sporting a very fashionable flour smudge somewhere behind his ear. Hoseok won't even spare him a “Hi.”

“Taehee wouldn't let me wet my hair to get the curls out,” complained Kihyun. He had a lump in his throat which grew larger when he jogged to cross a road, lungs shrinking inside him. “I must've been a proper asshat in my past life, there's no other explanation for it. There's no way the universe would let me suffer like this if I wasn't some pasty serial killer or if I wasn't the first person to start hunting whales or something.”

“You must've done some things right too. You've got Hoseok.”

Kihyun went tame at that. “I wonder,” he mumbled.

Because, in all honesty, he didn't have Hoseok.

He'd had him, and he'd lost him, and after today, Kihyun might lose him for good. The thought kicked him in the face. He'd rather have Hoseok stringing him along forever than giving him a definite no.

At times, Kihyun got gripped by anxious, choking hands; by a human-shaped mass of guilt telling him that Hoseok was going to change his mind about their deal. That he'd already changed it. Somewhere along the way, he could've realized how flawed Kihyun really was. How selfish he'd been towards Hyunwoo. These past few weeks may have been nothing but a long wait to teach him a lesson at the end of it.

Logically, Kihyun knew that Hoseok would never play him like that. But he'd seen the worst of him, in the brightest, most unforgiving light. Kihyun had seen himself too, and it wasn't a lovable sight.

Knowing that he _shouldn't_ be getting a second chance turned Kihyun into a slip of what he had been. The workings of his dirtied up conscience overshadowed the affection Hoseok had shown him since day one. His self-esteem had left him lost, stranded on a ship of questions. His own doubts came to rise behind his image of Hoseok like a black sun, sapping everything good and kind out of him and leaving his big heart bare.

The bus came into view and Kihyun heaved a sigh. He hung up with a rushed bye and ran up the stairs. He kind of hoped that if he was quick enough, nobody would notice his flowering bed of hair. Changkyun's “Bye bye, baby ram!” still rung in his ears.

People really needed to stop calling him silly names.

He jinked past the coach and squeezed himself through the crammed aisle. He hopped over strewn bags and stretched legs. He zipped past Minhyuk, who was too busy play-fighting with Jooheon, his signature notebook in one hand and his boyfriend's struggling paw in the other. Kihyun pressed on, passing Hyunwoo who gave him a perplexed greeting.

Two more seats down the aisle, Kihyun came to a halt. The clock in his chest stopped as he met Hoseok's eyes.

There was a backpack in the seat beside Hoseok, but, after staring for a little, he lifted it and put it in his lap, emptying the space in a silent offer. Kihyun kept his gaze glued to the floor as he sunk down next to him. He could see Hoseok stare some more in his peripheral. He pretended not to notice.

This was going to be an endless ride.

Saying nothing, Kihyun patted the pockets of his bomber and fished out a small tin jar. It used to be a lip balm container, but Kihyun had cleaned it and polished the outside before painting it powder blue and putting a bunny sticker on it. He clumsily unscrewed the lid and shoved the jar towards Hoseok. Two pills sat at the bottom.

Hoseok peeked inside.

“For motion sickness,” explained Kihyun. “You always forget to pack yours.”

He watched in silence as Hoseok gingerly put a single finger into the container and chased one pill around. He cinched it against the wall of the jar and slid it up into his palm. He popped it into his mouth and gulped it down with a swig of water.

“You won't take the other one?” asked Hoseok when he'd swallowed, nodding to the orphaned white pill at the bottom of the box.

“That one's for you too,” mumbled Kihyun. “For when we're going back. With the cup.”

He felt Hoseok's long look until the bus set off.

 

~

 

The stadium thronged. Amplified sounds and shouts crawled through the vast, three story tall space. Filling it like plankton fills the belly of a ravenous fish before it's gutted. Bouncing off the ceilings and floors. Bullet-shooting echoes.

People clapped. People stomped while they sat in their designated rows, raining their boot-clad feet on the bleachers to support their team.

Drenched in sweat, Kihyun coughed and crouched by the sideline. They were four hours into the tournament. The air that had already been congested in the morning, and teeming with cold due to the air con roaring on full blast, was turning more and more humid. His curls had fallen out for the most part, leaving wet waves in their stead.

Kihyun wiped the underside of his jaw with a sweatband. He threw a glance at the coach, who motioned to him to stay put. For whatever reason, she'd taken a shine to him sometime during the summer camp, roughly after the first spar with their soon-to-be opponents. Gunhee's guess was that she liked how gutsy Kihyun had acted that day. To Hyunwoo it seemed simpler: she hadn't known Kihyun before on a personal basis as she knew the other boys, but now that she did, she treated and protected him like the rest of her team. He'd earned it.

Kihyun had no opinion on the change. All he knew was that what had been a “Move it, you rotten sack of squish!” just a month ago had become a “Come on, come on, you can do it, little one!”

Not a shabby level-up, if you asked him.

A shrill whistle cut the silicone-thick air around him. Kihyun looked up. They were tied with the last year's second runner up on twenty four points, fighting for their spot in the final game. If they scored now, they would be only one more match away from the cup.

A match with the Sungbook-gu team, whose star lineup sat sprawled and staring below the bleachers. The clusters of fans behind them continued to stir up a ruckus even at this time when their favourites weren't playing.

“Go on,” said the coach, patting Kihyun's back to send him off onto the court. It felt strangely like when his dad would nudge him towards the neighbours' kids on the playground in a vain effort to help him find friends.

He ran up to Jooheon and Gunhee and squatted into the base position, feet planted firm on the slippy floor. The soles of his shoes squeaked faintly. On the very edge of his field of vision, Kihyun saw a blur of black and red rising up and down. The colours of their university. He'd spotted Yoongi in the audience when the games had just begun and waved at him, the senior smiling back at Kihyun's familiar face.

Kihyun had seen Taemin in the crowd too. When their eyes had locked, Taemin had stood up and sailed a huge sign above his head, swaying it from side to side.

The signal brought Kihyun back. He pinpointed the opponent's server and hunched down, ready to block the ball if it flew far enough.

Silence. A slap.

A swish.

The ball bounced off Seokjin's palms with a snap and went back to the opponent's field. A trio of huffy hitters flocked to Seokjin's attack and passed the ball amongst themselves. The tallest, stocky one jumped and sent a spike between Gunhee and Jooheon. The ball's shadow slashed across the court, nearing at the speed of light, slotting between the boys.

The two ran towards it without looking and crashed into each other.

Kihyun cursed. He hurried ahead and blocked the ball with a fist. The save was wobbly, but Hyunwoo picked the low pass up and shot it over the net.

But the opponent sent it back with ease.

To the very same spot.

Gunhee and Jooheon had barely picked themselves up, Jooheon rubbing his knee and rushing to his designated place. He saw the ball, backtracked, and ran back. He tripped.

Kihyun tripped over him.

As he fell down like a human house of cards, he heard Gunhee's footsteps. They were too far. Spit thickened in his mouth. He plopped onto his back and hit the ball from below, seeing the world upside down.

Gunhee took it up from there, shot a spike over the net and –

The stadium ruptured with screams. The black and red part of the bleachers rose and jumped up, waving their signs, singing their slogans. The hall swarmed. The referee whistled a win. Laughing wide, Hyunwoo carried Hoseok in his arms as he ran around the court in an uneven circle.

Even though Kihyun was still on the ground and dazed, back bent over Jooheon's whining body underneath him, he knew from Hoseok's happy face that they'd made it to the final game.

“You alive?” he croaked, tapping Jooheon's shoulder.

“Unfortunately,” said Jooheon, hissing. He let out two small _ah_ , _ah_ sounds. “I think I busted my knee. Twice.”

Kihyun crawled on all fours. Jooheon immediately rolled over and sat up. He grimaced as he tried to bend his leg. He murmured something, his dimples growing cadaverous in his normally plump face. Kihyun couldn't hear what Jooheon was saying because the team circled them at the same moment and a forest of arms picked them both up.

What he _did_ hear was Jooheon's cry.

The boy fell back on the floor, holding onto his knee with both hands.

The Sungbook-gu team watched closely from the sidelines as coach Cho and Gunhee helped Jooheon wobble to the bench.

Slowly, as a hush spread across the hall, their team stopped celebrating. The boys shrank into a tight ring around Jooheon, blocking the view. Kihyun threw a glance up to where Minhyuk whirled his little flag. The piece of fabric lay listless, sagging over Minhyuk's motionless hand. Kihyun looked away and found Hoseok's ashen face floating towards the group, and he followed it. Joining the ring, he used Hoseok's bulk and pushed his way underneath the bigger boy's arm to get to Jooheon.

A litany of _what happeneds_ and _fucks_ went up in a murmur. Rows upon rows of students on the bleachers began to break up as people stretched to see and mumbled curiously to their seatmates.

Surrounding the flock of players was a film of shadowy silence. Nobody wanted to speak first. A medic ran up and probed Jooheon's knee, earning a yelp from the boy and a horse-kick with his healthy leg. The man grimly assessed that there was no blood, which would have been good if bloodless injuries weren't usually worse.

The coach clucked her tongue. She motioned for the team to take a step back. Sharp, blue-white light pierced through the circle and sapped colour from Jooheon's eyes and skin.

“What now?” asked Gunhee in a half-voice.

“I can play,” insisted Jooheon, standing up and falling in fast sequence. He scrunched up his mouth. The arm he was leaning on rippled with dark veins. “I can go on. I'll just keep to my position –”

“Yeah, your position on the bench,” the coach cut him off.

Jooheon pouted. He didn't even have to pretend to get teary-eyed because he already was.

“But I _have_ to play! We can't let the Sungbook-gu Satans win by default!”

“We won't,” assured Hyunwoo. “We'll just crush them short of one player.”

That was a bold statement, and all the more surprising that it came from Hyunwoo of all people. He was not one to brag. When everyone turned to him, Hyunwoo grew the smallest bit sheepish, rubbing the spot underneath his jaw with a broad palm.

“I mean, we have to settle the score for last time when we lost to them because we were missing Kihyun, right?” said the leader, looking from the coach to Hoseok and, finally, to Kihyun. He smiled. “You can make up for that one today. Do you think you can stay on the court for the whole game?” Hyunwoo addressed to him.

Kihyun's heartbeat hiccuped.

“But I'm just a libero,” he stammered weakly.

“But a really good one,” said Jooheon, though to Kihyun it seemed like grasping for straws.

The leader's strategy had worked because all eyes flickered from him to Kihyun. Bored into him. Through him. The clothes sitting on his skin could have easily been on fire.

The allotted timeout between individual games was nearing its close. The world around Kihyun turned into one deafening, pendulum-sharp ticking sound. The clapping and shouting. The blinks of the eyes burning into him. All was timed. Loud. Intensified.

Kihyun craned his neck to search for Hoseok, who gazed back at him, but didn't say a word. Thuds and creaks and yells slowed and sped back up as the wispy haze of courage within Kihyun thickened and took shape.

Before he could rethink it, the words slipped out.

“I'll do it.”

Kihyun caved into himself as a thunder of palms battered his back in what was meant to be praise and joy, but what his body registered as a regular beating. He squeezed out a constipated smile.

A gong signalled the countdown. The circle around Jooheon still buzzed when one of the referees pushed in to check on the situation.

“Are you prepared for the last match? Or should we announce a walkover?”

“We're playing,” said the coach very calmly.

Kihyun had yet to hear her this serene.

It scared the living shit out of him.

A fresh cacophony of gongs called the finalists to the court. Trickling onto the field with last over-the-shoulder glances at Jooheon, the team moved to form a line by the net. Only Kihyun stalled. He took in the shuffle of his teammates' feet, still torpid from the skyscraper-sized speed bump that Jooheon's injury had thrown their way. He took in the heavy march of the Sungbook-gu team. Quick and breathless, Kihyun squatted beside Jooheon.

“What the fuck do I do?” he whispered.

Jooheon whined. “Hyung! You can't wuss out!”

“I'm not wussing out!” shout-whispered Kihyun. “I just – don't know what to _do_ out there. I'm only used to one position.”

“I could make a pretty good joke out of this one, but I won't.” Jooheon grimaced as the medic fiddled with his knee. “All I can tell you is that you can do it, hyung. You're used to taking whatever is thrown at you and making the best of it. You've already done it once when you first joined us.”

“That's not the same.”

“It is. Just fake it till you make it.”

That was an advice about as exquisite and ripe as local store table wine. Kihyun willed his frustration to simmer down. He felt it fade over his nerves, like dew drying on his flesh. He looked down and watched the machine-like motions of the medic's hands as he steadied Jooheon's knee with wheat white bandages.

“I'm sorry I offed your leg,” he uttered.

“It was already offed,” said Jooheon, swatting at Kihyun to get him going.

At the same moment, two arms slipped underneath Kihyun's armpits and lifted him up.

“We kind of have a game to win?” Seokjin's snippy voice reminded him.

Kihyun wasted no time answering. He joined Seokjin on his swift jog back to the others. The referee and one of the organizers were still talking to both coaches by the opposite sideline. From the looks of it, they were going over the risks and rules that came with refusing to settle at a walkover. Coach Cho had her lips pinched together in an adamant line which alone announced to everyone that giving up wasn't an option.

“Come on, Buttercup!” called someone from their side of the bleachers right when Kihyun crossed the line into the court.

Ruddy in the face, Kihyun ran up to the team, ignoring the roar that accompanied his steps.

Like he hadn't heard this one before.

Through the holes in the net, he sighted Chanwoo amongst his sneering crew. He held the other libero's gaze. Chanwoo gave him a shy thumbs-up. It startled Kihyun into gesturing back, lifting his thumbs at the boy.

Chanwoo lit up like a little lantern.

The exchange didn't escape Bobby. He stepped in front of the libero, hooking his fingers through the net.

“Seems like you have quite a rep with your own people, Buttercup,” he remarked, not even trying to be snide. It was cutting enough that he was right. Kihyun wasn't a popular kid. Even his schoolmates didn't take him seriously – even at a time when he presumably needed their support the most.

But Changkyun had been right. Kihyun was the best when he was pissed.

He smiled at Bobby and turned away. Some way, somehow, Hoseok had hacked his way towards him and was now watching him. Kihyun's smile wilted.

Hoseok shifted his weight. “...You good?”

“Yeah,” said Kihyun hoarsely. “Never better. Don't worry about me.”

“But –”

“I'm fine. For real. It doesn't really bother me anymore.”

Hoseok wanted to say something, then changed his mind and reeled on his heels, then turned fully back to Kihyun.

“You know, there's this saying,” he said and gestured to Bobby, who'd merged in with the rest of his teammates by then. “If karma doesn't hit you, I will.”

It was like Kihyun had just swallowed sunshine. He chuckled.

“Don't hit him, hyung. That's my job.”

Hoseok's eyebrows rose up, tenderly, and he gave a small chuckle back.

“Neither of you is going to hit him,” commented the coach, sending a shock through both of the boys as she appeared behind them out of thin air. She patted Hoseok's shoulder. “But you better beat him. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Totally, coach.”

“Good. I negotiated with the higher-ups that we can carry on without Jooheon and count it as a legitimate match whether we win or lose. No pressure, but don't make me lose face now.” She regarded them for a second before an idea struck her. “If you win, I'll buy you all a round of soju.”

“You promised that last year too!” Gunhee chimed in. “And then you brought us a bottle of Robby Bubble.”

“This time I mean it,” coaxed the coach, jutting her chin at Gunhee.

There were some grumbles as well as cheers, but everyone fell silent once the organizers announced the end of the break and the beginning of the last game.

Kihyun had to go to one corner of the court while Hoseok went to the other.

Quiet. A whistle.

A slap.

Jinhwan threw a long, low serve over the net. The ball floated in a straight line until it suddenly lost momentum and dropped. Hyunwoo had to crouch to pick it up. He sent it back with a _whoosh_.

Kihyun's ears ticked with his own pulse. The sounds from the outside filled his head as though it was already full – as though he was in an aquarium and a layer of water and glass filtered out the sharpness of each yell and smack and squeak of shoes. The harder he concentrated, the more soundproof his ears became, with only the throbbing rush of blood acting as a soundtrack to his vision.

He moved across the field like a chess piece. From one position to another. From one corner to the next one. All the while, his eyes flitted to Hyunwoo and the coach for all the wordless advice he could get from them. The rest of the time he spent hypnotizing the opponent's team hitters, but not really daring to pursue the ball unless it flew to his section of the field.

For a libero, sometimes the toughest thing was to stay still.

With a couple of points lost and won, they rotated and rotated. Kihyun's throat tightened as he ended up right before the net and looked up. He wasn't entirely sure that he could even reach the top of the thing. How was he supposed to block the hitters' spikes?

His gaze dropped and landed on Bobby. The fucker winked at Kihyun.

Rolling the short sleeves of his jersey up, Kihyun rubbed his bare shoulders and squatted into the base position. A dull thud was heard from behind him as Hoseok's serve surged up, up, the ball slow but high. The Sungbook-gu hitters formed a triangle, calculating where the serve was going to run out of steam.

Climbing, climbing, and then going down in a sharp slope, the ball bounced off one of the hitter's spread palms and skipped over the net in a neat little arch. Gunhee fired it back up in a shot similar to Hoseok's serve. The waiting and uneasiness got to Bobby, who sprung up and sent a brutal spike in Kihyun's direction.

Unthinking, Kihyun went on his tippy toes. He got to the ball and touched it, but it flew too rapidly and too high up to block it. The thing almost fried off his fingertips before it stuttered over Kihyun's hands and fell to the ground with a loud echo.

The tribunes erupted. The Sungbook-gu students flapped their yellow foam fingers and yellow-white flags in the air.

Kihyun had yet to find foam fingers as preposterous as today.

Jogging past to pick up the ball and pass it to the other side of the field underneath the net, Hyunwoo paused to give Kihyun a reassuring pat.

“It's fine,” he murmured. “Don't lose focus.”

That was easily said. Kihyun fidgeted when the digital screen above the field flipped to add up another point to the opponent's score. He fidgeted again at the sound of the whistle. His armpits dampened with sweat.

He missed being in the river on a summer night when everything trickled around him in cold strings – strings of air and water – strings of Hoseok's laughter. Now the atmosphere was stagnant, and so tense that he'd grown hotter than he should have, with the air con blasting at full throttle.

“Don't give up, Buttercup!” yelled the stranger. His friends hooted around him.

Kihyun squatted and leaned on his thighs. _Don't give up_. He looked at Hoseok and back ahead.

Giving up was the one thing that Kihyun didn't even know how to do. When Hoseok's trust was at stake, he wasn't about to let the next guy win by default.

The other team rotated. Bobby cantered to the far end of the field and prepared to open the new round. For such a stringy guy, he had a lot of strength in his serve. The bang with which he sent the ball swooshing resounded through the still hall.

Behind Kihyun, Hyunwoo tossed the ball back with a topspin, angling it to a vacant place between the Sungbook-gu setter and the left hitter. The setter was faster, backed up, and beat the ball to it.

His footwork timed with Seokjin's, Kihyun raced to the net, careful not to overlap with Seokjin's space and end up the same as Jooheon. Seokjin saved the attack as he locked his elbows and let the ball bounce off his forearms, but it didn't go over the net just yet. It surged far up, too far for Kihyun to reach.

 _Help me up_ , said Kihyun with his eyes.

Sidestepping, Seokjin got closer and leaned down. Kihyun pressed on his shoulder and jumped. He slammed the ball down in a sharp spike.

It thudded into the ground and ricocheted off it with a spin.

The referee gestured a point for them. The score gap dropped by one point and the bleachers rewarded the team with a steady roar. Opposite of them, the yellow part of the tribunes rumbled, handwritten slogans shifting and crumpling as the fans' hands wavered and balled in frustration. Seokjin and Kihyun shortly clung to each other with a shout.

Their team had the next serve. All of them moved clockwise. On the other side of the net, Jinhwan had shuffled to the front. He used his petite size to cover a tricky, badly accessible spot and reciprocated Seokjin's fire with a quick attack. Dropping low, Kihyun went for a dig. The ball flew off his hands and went behind him, but that was okay because Hoseok lurched forward and –

Slammed it into the net.

“Fuck!” cursed Hoseok, unheard by anyone but Kihyun because the applause and moans from the students drowned it out.

Kihyun gaped. Hoseok wasn't looking at him. His ears bloomed red. Blotchy streaks spread down his neck and chest.

Hearing Hoseok be so... flowery with his language was a new one. It took Kihyun a moment to remember that he was on the court and in the middle of a match. The click of the digital board showing the score woke him up, but not before tenderness swept him. He watched Hoseok retreat. The back of his neck burned.

The Sungbook-gu team missed a point when it was the tall hitter's turn to serve and he squashed the ball into the net as well.

The chess pieces moved again. Running to the back of the court to open the next round, Kihyun prayed to all the gods he didn't believe in not to make the same mistake. Trying his first serve ever during a literal championship put the _tiniest_ amount of pressure on him.

His hands turned slippery. Taking a few deep breaths and allowing himself one more memory of the dark, silver river, he fired the serve with all the control he possessed in his tiny body.

It crossed over to the other half of the court.

Kihyun was ready to collapse with relief, if it wasn't for the insignificant detail that they were still playing. Jooheon shrieked from the bench to cheer on him. His arms flailed from behind the medic and Minhyuk, who were pinning him back to the bench.

Kihyun submerged back to the game after his brief fermata. As he moved with more fluidity than before, he realized something. He was finally back in the rear half of the court – the one he knew best. The half where he could play his part.

The Sungbook-gu team still lead by one point. One more, and it was over.

The speed of the attacks increased; movements quickened. Hard hits rained on each side of the court. Kihyun was a blur as he rushed in circles to always get to the spot ahead of time and pass the ball to the front.

Chanwoo on the other side of the field blocked Hoseok's blow. The strength he had to put into the dig deflected the ball all across the court. Backing, Gunhee jumped and passed the ball back to the front. Hyunwoo used his fist to send a gunshot-sharp spike over the net.

It touched the ground.

A chunk of warmth stuck inside of Kihyun, almost like he loved this. The scoreboard gave another flip. Kihyun was too anxious to be happy about it.

He shot a fierce serve at the opponent and waited. The ball flew back and forth close to the net, from one hitter to the other, from one team to the other. Each slap and smack grew more and more echoey in the hushed hall. The sounds turned to thunder. Both Hoseoks and Hyunwoo were sweating buckets, bating their breaths so as not to run out of it in between blocks and attacks.

Then, Bobby got to the ball. He raised his hand, struck the thing, and cannonballed it high and far – so far that it was out of the hitters' reach.

Kihyun lifted his head, eyes on the spinning volleyball. He gazed up at it the same as a speechless crowd watches a great tragedy unfold. A falling skyscraper. A tsunami crashing over a coastal civilization to sweep it back into the sea. Something that's out of a human's power to stop.

Tripping over his ankles, Kihyun started to run backwards. And when he saw that the ball was too far and too fast, he turned around and dashed forward, the thing swooshing somewhere behind him, _above_ him. Ascending. And then –

It began to descend.

Kihyun shouted at the people on the bleachers to part for him as he darted out of the court and skipped over the benches. He climbed, climbed until he heard the screams and he knew that he had to do it now.

He whirled back ahead and kicked the ball at Gunhee, who'd followed Kihyun to the bottom of the bleachers.

Gunhee picked it up and aimed his hit at Hyunwoo. Awaiting his mellow attack, the Sungbook-gu hitters spread out to cover more space. A second later, the scoreboard clicked again.

The leader leapt up and plummeted the ball in a straight vertical line to an unguarded place right beyond the net.

Kihyun couldn't hear his thoughts over the uproar of the stadium. Couldn't tear away from the scoreboard. They'd won.

“Buttercup for the cup!” shrieked not one voice, but dozens.

Students heaved up from their seats all at once and flooded the field in a mass. Some of them cheered and fluttered their flags. Some hugged the players, yelling in their ears and spinning them around. Several guys carried Hyunwoo on their shoulders and threw him up and down. Hyunwoo laughed without a sound. He shone under the attention, straining to see everyone who was calling to him.

Stumbling down the bleachers and avoiding hands that wanted to hold him back, Kihyun searched for a face he couldn't find. He forced his way through the throng to where Jooheon had been sitting before someone had grabbed him to give him the same treatment as Hyunwoo, only gentler, because Jooheon would yelp whenever the crowd tossed him too hard.

Kihyun kept away, tiptoeing by the sideline. What he saw was unreal. The swarm of people who celebrated and laughed. The joy. Joy dripping from every voice and gesture. He felt anything but. He felt – like the worst was only just to come.

He sat down, craning his neck for Hoseok. Dazedly, he reached underneath the seat to drag out his backpack. He opened it and pulled out his pretty bento box.

A small shadow fell over him. Kihyun's heart overturned in his chest before he looked up. But it wasn't Hoseok standing in front of im. It was Chanwoo, and he beamed at Kihyun.

“That was,” he said, clutching a stitch in his hip, “bloody amazing. How the _heck_. Do you always do that?” he demanded, taking pauses to rub at his side.

“No idea,” replied Kihyun, stupefied. A tiny shard of pride prompted him to smile at the other libero. “I just couldn't let you guys win, obviously.”

Chanwoo gave a quiet cackle. “That's fair. But these tricks of yours will kill me one day.”

“Good,” said Kihyun, but Chanwoo chuckled at that too.

“Looks like the score's even again,” he pointed out.

“Looks like it,” agreed Kihyun. He absentmindedly played with the box in his hands. “So. Next year. Same time, same place?”

A big grin broke over Chanwoo's face. “Deal, hyung. But get ready. Next time, I'll be better than you.”

Kihyun told himself that he wasn't blushing and that his pride didn't double in size. Being acknowledged by his own team and coach was insanely validating for sure, but striking up a respectful frenemyship with one of his rivals also had its perks.

An arm snaked itself around Chanwoo's shoulders.

“Sorry to steal you from your man crush, but the coach is calling us,” said Jinhwan. He spared a sad smile to Kihyun – sad but genuine. “You guys were really good.”

“So were you,” admitted Kihyun. He decided to be cheeky. “We were just better.”

“Please. We let you win because it would be no victory at all – to flatten you when you were one player short,” Jinhwan snipped back, eyes twinkling.

Kihyun snorted, his reply dying on his tongue as the two guys sprinted away.

In their stead, he spotted Hoseok in the blur of bodies. Hoseok was already looking at him. He broke away from the crowd and made it to the bench a moment later. He wasn't wearing his jersey and Kihyun could only imagine he'd taken it off and waved it in the air when Hyunwoo had scored the last point.

Kihyun scrambled to his feet. He waited for Hoseok to reach him.

The only thing that could fit between them when Hoseok finally halted was the bento box. People pushed past them, still too loud to try to speak. Nobody stopped to pull them in.

“Hey, you,” said Hoseok.

“Hi,” said Kihyun, voice cracking. He wanted to screech. “We've made it,” he whispered instead.

“That we have. Thanks to you. You were great there, Ki.” Silence. “You look great.”

Flushing, Kihyun fumbled with the box. It swam in his sweaty hands, nearly slipping out. He clutched it close to his stomach before he pressed it against Hoseok. A minute passed. Hoseok peeked down to where the container was cutting into his chest, then took it and cracked the lid open. A mist of vanilla scent rose up and tickled their nostrils.

Hoseok stared at the heart-shaped cookies. Clumps of white frosting covered the dark dough in the pattern of a volleyball.

Tipping his head to the side, Hoseok gave Kihyun a curious glance, and the glance deepened into something longer. Warmer. He took in every small curl falling into Kihyun's eyes. Every freckle on his nose. His features softened, and the thing inside Kihyun's rib cage mirrored them.

“So. Are you free?” said Hoseok nonchalantly.

Kihyun exhaled. For Hoseok, he'd cancel even a _tête_ - _à_ - _tête_ with Jane Austen.

“Yeah. _So_ free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for sticking with this story to the very end. You are the best.  
> I will miss my volley gays. ; _ ;

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [here](https://twitter.com/mrtvej_pes).


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